


Who We Are At the Dawn

by Cranky_Tanky



Series: Who We Are In the (Lost) Light [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, i mean slow slow burn, like the main relationship is in the next installment slow burn, they don't even meet in this part they meet in part 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 198,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cranky_Tanky/pseuds/Cranky_Tanky
Summary: This is a slow burn romance fic for two of my original characters. However, it largely follows the IDW canon and lots of canon characters are also featured. The first part covers the four million year long Civil War for Cybertron and the second part follows the Lost Light crew in their journey to find the Knights of Cybertron. Uploads every Monday and Friday.triggers are tagged as above so that you don't get invested if you don't want to see those things at all. they happen much later in the story, but i just want to be careful!edit: to clarify, the non-con assault is not shown on screen. Instead, the scene cuts from before to the aftermath.





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! if you're here because you read the first draft of this, good to have you back! if you're new here, welcome and i hope you enjoy yourself!
> 
> Some quick notes:  
> A LOT of stuff has changed! like, SO MUCH! the chapters are longer than 2000 words, and i've stopped restricting myself in my writing to keep one singular friend of mine happy. In 2019 we cut toxic people out of our lives!
> 
> anyways, here's how uploading will go. Since I've already written AND edited all 27 chapters of part one (wow!), i can keep a consistent upload schedule! One chapter will go up every friday afternoon. 
> 
> edit: after some math i realized that would literally be 27 weeks, and i don't know about you but i don't have the patience for that. SO, it's going to be uploaded every monday and friday.
> 
>  
> 
> **for content warnings:**
> 
>  
> 
> **There will be content warnings in the tags of the fic, but i will also warn for specific widely held triggers in individual chapter notes so that you have a more precise idea of what happens when. being triggered sucks, but it also sucks knowing that one of your triggers is in a fic you might possibly want to read but not knowing when it might come up. I'll post the trigger and the surrounding lines to skip. ******
> 
> **  
> **  
> **thank you all for joining me -- now let's get cracking!**  
> 

Heavylift collapsed into the chair next to her friend Dropthing, venting heavily and slamming back a shot of bad engex. It burned on the way down, fast and hot. She and her work buddies had come to the shitty neighborhood bar downtown, after their shift at work. They worked in the mines, grueling day after grueling day. Carthex was a mining colony on Cybertron, surrounded by miles and miles of rocky desert before one could see even a suggestion of civilization. The roads in were run down. The roads out were in shambles. It was not a particularly pretty place. All of the buildings were sooty and dirty, the people not much better. As a matter of fact, the whole area seemed to be smeared with one singular thumbprint of grime that could never quite be scrubbed out, even the small touristy area that actually had money.

Dropthing nudged her with his elbow, grinning. “Hey. Good job today.”

“The loads just get heavier and heavier, don’t they,” Heavylift laughed, three wheels on her back spinning lazily. The rims were flush to her backplates, making the two cresting just above her shoulders blur.

“Ain't that the truth,” another manual-class mech grumbled, the huge, grooved wheels in her elbows caked with dirt. Dropthing smiled, again, a little less timidly. The crane was a bit of a coward, but after a couple shots of engex he was starting to loosen up. That was how it usually went.

It was after an hour of casual drinking that Heavylift managed to fuck it up. “Yeah, they should've killed like, literally anybody else except Senator WhatsHisFuck,” she giggled, tipsy. The warmth of the engex had enveloped her like comforts she’d never really gotten to feel -- had just seen them on holovid, just out of reach by careful government design. Nobody in Carthex got to feel luxury like that, except the Functionist government. And even then,  _ their _ blankets were scraggly too, an imitation of Iaconian comforts. Just enough to keep them warm from the plummeting Carthexian night temperatures. If anything, it made them resent their freezing and hungry citizens more. How dare these poor people exist here, making them stay and keep watch?

All bots at the table froze at Heavylift’s statement. The rest of the bar carried on, unaware of the sudden sense of danger. The lights were still dim, the floor still dingy, the engex still cheap. The bartender was still telling that one seat-warmer that they'd had enough for the night, the flickering lighted signs on the walls still buzzing.

Heavylift’s laughter eased off. “What? I'm right.”

“Heavy, you can't just say that stuff,” Dropthing laughed again, but it was nervous and forced. “That’s really dangerous. For like, all of us.”

“Listen, what happens at Slickers stays at Slickers, okay?”

After that, the crowd relaxed, and hesitantly started up conversation again. It was halting and short, not lasting very long, bots still rattled from Heavylift’s dangerous statement. Voicing displeasure with the government was… inadvisable, at best. After all, the local branch of the Functionists were pretty strict. Heavylift had seen one bot made an example of because he’d made an impression of someone higher class when a government official walked by. People avoided him and his newly single optic like the rust plague, now.

The group split up and promised to see each other again, at work. Dropthing and Heavylift drove back to their apartment complex together, Dropthing’s crane treads whirring. His altmode was big, with a long neck that held the crane hook at the end. It swung suspended from cords that ran up the length of the crane neck, bonded with pulleys and levers. Heavylift’s altmode was considerably smaller, a three-wheeled mining cart. She was used to carry smaller loads and get into places larger mecha couldn't.

“Shanix for your thoughts,” Heavylift stated, about halfway home.

Dropthing hesitated. “Heavylift, back at Slickers…”

“Yeah. Sorry, it just slipped out. It’s not like you were involved, Drop.”

“Well, I kinda was. Besides, that’s dangerous! You could get arrested.”

“Not if nobody says anything! Besides, complaining is nice. Helps lighten the loads I have to lift.”

Dropthing groaned. “You need to learn to keep your intake shut! We’ve got the class system for a reason.”

“Yeah, but it’s a stupid one and you know it,” Heavylift countered, as they neared their complex.

“I dunno, Heavy, it makes sense to me that a crane should be in manual.”

“Yeah, but you don't wanna do anything else?”

“Well…”

“Listen.” As they reached the entrance, the mining cart transformed back into root mode, crossing her arms. Dropthing transformed immediately after her, frown on his faceplates. His yellow hazard striping blazed across his chest, while Heavylift’s ran down her arms and in thin stripes over her chest and hips. “Listen. Look me in my optics and tell me you want nothing more in your life than lifting shit, and I'll drop it.”

Dropthing quaked, opening his intake to tell her  _ of course that’s all I want… _

The air hung still, holding its breath as it waited for his swift reply. Dropthing was shaking, and it wasn’t just from the quickly approaching cold. The lights in front of the complex hummed, white and bright. They felt hot on his plating, and his treads spun nervously. He couldn't do it. Primus, he couldn't say it. It scared the shit out of him, and he just fled into the complex and up to his room.

Heavylift just shook her head and plodded up to her own apartment, getting into her shower rack and letting the poorly-pressurized solvent shower wash away the grime and stress. Slightly more clean and relaxed, she exited, drying off and going into her room. Some excess moisture clung in between her plating and chilled in the quickly freezing drafts coming through her cracked window. In her single-room was a recharge slab with several tattered, old blankets, and a shitty, shitty computer.

Heavylift had spent the last few months teaching herself coding and malware construction. The process of intricate code that went into viruses fascinated her, and she was good at it. Teasing out tiny codes made her processor sing.

Of course, a bot in manual class was absolutely forbidden from anything that could possibly be considered close to intellectual. Heavylift kept all of her virus files stored off of the cloud, in her computer tower. All of her coding was on-site and she had a penchant for viruses that activated and promptly ate themselves if it caused no damage to the host.

She stared at the computer. She had a virus halfway done. It made a bot sing all of their glyphs. And that was what her malware was like; benign, mostly just annoying. Of course, there were things that allowed her access to municipal street cameras, and maybe the odd government record, but she really never used those. She didn’t have much of an interest in government.

Ugh. The light from the screen hurt her optics, and she could feel a helmache blooming with fragility. Her arms and legs felt like they were rusted stiff. She shook her helm, going back to the washroom to stare in the mirror. She’d already washed her face, but honestly she was so tired it felt like her optics were falling out.

She turned on the faucet, cupped her hands beneath the flow, and splashed her aqua faceplate with solvent, scrubbing at her eyes. She had a delicate nose, with simple optics and pretty lips. Her frame was slim, surprisingly delicate for a manual bot. She was pretty, by manual-class standards. As pretty as a manual bot was allowed to be, really. Plain, but charming enough. Forgettably quaint. A bit of a bucket helm. Wouldn't do to have her outshine anyone higher-class in the room.

Sighing with irritation, she wiped her face dry and went to collapse on her recharge slab.

 

\-----------

 

Flux woke to her roommate leaving for their shift at the local clinic. It was a bit of a lower-end clinic -- technically the worst in the neighborhood, but they did good work there. Middle Crestover was an average place, wrapped around the prestigious bullseye that was Crestover Heights and sandwiched in by the run-down, below-the-poverty-line section known as Lower Crestover. Flux hadn’t been to Crestover Heights in ages. She used to know someone there. They were even friends. But they had grown apart -- a rift had been driven between them, and they hadn’t talked in a while. She missed him. He was nice.

The plane rose, blinking away sleep, and flexed her wings as she stretched away more stiff grogginess. Shuffling out of her room, she trudged into the kitchen, grabbing a cube and turning on the holovid screen. Morning news played and she slowly woke up, sipping Energon. Her shift wasn't for a few hours.

“Due to the courageous report of a mech who would rather go undesignated, the Senate found and arrested a dangerous terrorist today.”

A picture showed up, and Flux’s wings twitched. The accused was manual class, the picture chosen to be purposefully unflattering -- it was a mugshot. Those were all inherently unflattering. Her yellow eyes cut to the side, as her hands held up the datapad listing her designation and class. Flux had seen someone from Translucentia Heights arrested on the news the other day, and the police had used a picture from that bot’s social media page. The difference was staggering -- as was the difference in how the news reported it. That bot had been given every benefit of the doubt and had been released a week later with a slap on the wrist.

“The terrorist had hundreds of files of malware on her computer, but has been apprehended. Her computer has also been seized and justice has been swift.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Flux muttered, wings twitching again. She had no patience for authoritarianism. She hadn’t had any when she was cold constructed in Lower Crestover, and she didn’t have any now. Ranting at her holovid news station had become an avid hobby of hers. After all, suffer not the treads of a tyrant.

Flux turned off the screen, finishing the energon.

\---------

Really, Heavylift should have expected this. The air was uncomfortably cold, instead of the brisk chill of night, and it kept her awake, on edge. Above her, not entirely for the aesthetic, hung grotesque tools for shadowplay and other horrific operations. The mining cart lay on the table, strapped down so securely that all she could do was vent. The table was cold, sterile, and it fit with the room. They'd injected her lines with a numbing agent just so she would be quiet.

“You,” the mech who was about to perform the procedure said, “are quite a problem. Sedition, terrorism…”

_ None of the viruses had an activation code, _ Heavylift wanted to say.  _ I only weaponized them if I used them. _

“Yes, quite a problem indeed. You're lucky the Senators are merely annoyed. I think shadowplay would've been a good way to deal with you.”

A small buzzsaw flicked out of the mech’s servo. It hummed like it was particularly pleased at the task it was about to undertake. Heavylift attempted to squirm. She didn’t get very far, vents kicking up a notch. The doctor grinned, and his grin was wide, terrible, and full of square teeth.

“I think I'll start with your head.”

\---------

Heavylift returned to work a few weeks later with a single optic, a vocalizer able only to produce the most monotone of noises, and pincers for servos. The wrecked vocalizer was a local quirk of empurata. The mining cart had heard that in other places, empurata only involved the removal of a bot’s head and hands, but in Carthex… empuratees no longer had a face  _ or _ a voice. Just a hollow imitation of both. 

Dropthing wouldn't meet her gaze, all work day, or that night when the group went out to drink. She still drove home next to him. After all, they lived in the same apartment complex. And for the first few nights, neither of them said anything. Heavylift supposed she was still in shock. The sixth night, she spoke up, the grinding monotone of her computerized voice grating on her audials.

“I KNOW YOU TOLD THE SENATE,” she droned, after getting halfway home without a word said. “IT’S OKAY. I DON’T MIND.”

That opened the floodgates -- Dropthing started blubbering. “Primus, Heavy, I’m so sorry, I just, I just got scared, and I-”

“REALLY DROPTHING, IT’S ALRIGHT.”

“Was it just-”

“YES. IT WAS JUST EMPURATA.”

“You're… you're being so calm.”

Heavylift resisted the urge to gloat with “I can still type, can't I?” Instead, she pulled to a stop outside the apartment and transformed, lights glinting eerily off of her optic ridges. “NO SENSE BEING UPSET. I LEARNED MY LESSON.”

Dropthing deflated with relief. “Primus, I'm glad. You're okay, though? It doesn't hurt?”

Heavylift shook her helm.

“Oh, thank Primus!” Dropthing gave her a one-armed hug and said goodnight, retreating to his apartment. The air was quiet outside, and Heavylift felt something between the two of them shift, even if she couldn’t put her claw on it. Something was off -- just a bit. Something was different. Heavylift watched him go up the stairs, door still open, and then went up to her own room.

\------------

Flux had always liked to wrap up a day with reading. When she was living with her sparktwin in Lower Crestover, she had collected datapad after datapad to read. Ones thrown in the trash, or dropped on the street, ones given out for free by struggling bookstores trying to promote themselves. Sometimes, she scraped enough money to splurge on buying a couple. But for the most part, she and her sparktwin Capacitor had lived paycheck to paycheck, barely scraping by. Now, on her way to work, Flux would stop by a cheap datapad store for prose and poetry. She could afford to buy them these days. Most of the time, she would visit a vendor on the street -- they were cheaper, and while money wasn't as tight for her anymore, she knew it could easily get that way if she wasn't careful. In Lower Crestover, money was so tight for everyone that some places had the barter system, and siphoning bars were set up on nearly every block. Flux loved the siphoning bars, especially the keg stands. You could just go, sit down under the tarp, and share a drink of siphoned fuel with friends or strangers. It was the one thing that Flux missed so dearly about Lower Crestover.

One day, the vendor winked at her whilst handing her a datapad. “Here. I think you might like this one. How was that epic you bought a week ago?”

“Oh, it was wonderful!” Flux said, beaming as she held the offered datapad. “What’s this one?”

“Oh, you know that gladiator, Megatron? He’s putting out poetry now, they say. Haven't read it, but people are going crazy for it. Thought you might like it. Bots say it’s exquisite.”

“Oh! How much?”

“On the house, sweetspark. Loyal customer reward. Though, if I were you, I wouldn't talk too much about it,” they whispered. “Rumor has it it’s a bit… politically inflammatory.”

Flux glanced at the datapad, thinking on it. Politically inflammatory was certainly her aesthetic, but what  _ kind _ of politically inflammatory was Finagle talking about?

“Still want it?”

After a few moments’ hesitation, she tucked it into her subspace. A free datapad was a free datapad -- it was best to take it, even if she ended up not liking it. After all, she could always donate it, and pass it forwards to someone else. “Why not. Thanks, Finagle.”

“Of course! Have a good day, now!”

Her day at work was long and hard, and Flux came home exhausted and hungry. She was a military cargo plane, and while it afforded her at least some mild comfort, the work was still grueling and thankless. Her sparktwin had transferred out of that facility after they’d stopped speaking to each other and moved to Crestover Heights. As far as Flux knew, her sparktwin wasn’t working anymore.

The slate-gray mech’s roommate was sitting at the kitchen table, sorting through patient files. They had a mug of warmed energon beside them, and it steamed, gently. Curls of steam wafted up as if they were trying to reach the helicopter’s delicate reading glasses.

“Hey, Aberhalde,” Flux greeted tiredly, passing the kitchen table to go rifle around in the fridge for something she didn’t have to cook. Thankfully, Flux’s habits as someone who had had to struggle for food before had led her to hoard leftovers. She plucked a labelled container out of the fridge, retrieved something to eat it with, and started to chow down. Aberhalde smiled over their shoulder at her.

“Hey, Flux. How was work?”

The plane rolled her optics. “Ugh. You?”

“Had another addict come in today, poor thing.” Aberhalde tsked, shaking their head. The rotor blades on their back spun idly until one clunked to a stop against the chair, and then they went the other way before meeting the same fate. 

Fading light came in through the window, with a view of the city, and Flux vented. “Huh. Are they alright?”

“Well, at least they came. I gave them my commlink if they ever need anything.”

“Are you sure you’re not a blacksmith?” Flux teased, grabbing a cube and sitting at the table, momentary pity forgotten. Her chair was much, much larger than Aberhalde’s, due to her massive build. Her shoulders were blocky, with a broad build, and both of her wings had her jet turbines mounted on them. The light shone dully off of her slate plating, but on the three cockpit windows near her clavicular area, at the top of her chest, light glinted. The front part of her torso was smooth, light gray plating, corded muscle cabling just barely visible if she moved. Her back had landing wheel gear going in a stripe up her spinal strut. Her hips widened past her waist, and her thick thighs let to massive pedes that shook delicate objects in any room she entered. In short, nothing about Flux could really be considered small.

Aberhalde rolled their eyes at Flux’s teasing. “It helps!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Pick up another datapad today?”

Flux opened her mouth, and paused. If the material was really politically inflammatory, she didn't want to involve her roommate. They had asked her to tone it down when she was yelling at the holovid news before. It made them a bit uncomfortable. So Flux had obliged, simply muttering at the holovid to herself when she watched the news. “Mm. No. None caught my optic. But I did say hi to Finagle.”

“Aw, I'm sure that old bot was happy to see  _ you.” _

“Shut up, will you? You're awful.” The plane rolled her optics, and Aberhalde cackled, slapping the table with a servo. Flux shook her head, grinning. “Awful. Just awful.”

The cargo plane sighed, slouching back in her chair, and grabbed the remote off the table to turn the kitchen holovid screen on. Some report about some new biomech breakthrough that was mildly impressive and would just be overshadowed by another mildly impressive breakthrough next year -- probably by the same person. Flux had no patience for the pretentious. But she was happy for the bot who had accomplished it. He was that old friend of hers -- ReDouble of Crestover Heights. They’d met through Capacitor. Flux wasn’t surprised that ReDouble had made the breakthrough -- he was (and Flux was presenting this as an empirical truth) one of the brightest geniuses in the universe. He’d made so many breakthroughs in the last few centuries, Flux would have ragged him about hogging them all if they still knew each other.

Aberhalde was suddenly more solemn as they continued sorting through files, as Redouble’s name was mentioned. “Hear from Capacitor lately?”

Flux nearly groaned at the thought of her twin. To say Capacitor was the more Machiavellian of the two was putting it  _ lightly _ . “Abbey, you know we haven't spoken in years. Not since she bonded up.”

“Well, yeah, I just thought… you know. Maybe today was the day.”

“It’s fine. No, I haven't heard from her. She can do whatever she likes, for all I care. I just feel bad for ReDouble -- he has to put up with her.” Flux snorted, and then huffed out a vent, wings drooping wearily. “Hey, I'm tired. I think I'll hit the bed.”

“Mhm. I'll be up a little longer. Night, Fluxie. Recharge well.”

“Night, Abbey.”

Flux retired, pulling out the datapad once she was settled under the blankets. They were soft, a utilitarian gray, and she had a lot of mismatched, comfy pillows she’d managed to collect. Most of them had been on sale. Settling in, she began to read. And she was instantly sucked in, starting from the title, as her world drained away. The soft glow of the datapad cast over her face, drawing her in so firmly it was impossible to tear herself away. Reading always did that for her, but this...

“ _ Towards Peace, _ huh? Hmm…”


	2. Cleanse and Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavylift comes into conflict with her friends and decides where to throw her lot in, Flux attends her first Decepticon rally, and the Clampdown is still heavy in effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers: mentions of homelessness and going hungry starting right around line 163 and ending around line 173. Look for the "***" symbols to know where it starts and ends!**
> 
>  
> 
> **plot missed if you skip: Flux and Megatron are now close friends and Flux is heavily involved in the Decepticon movement. ******

Today, Heavylift had a day off from work, and it was killing her. She hadn't so much as touched her computer in the last few days. So she hesitantly sat down, wondering if they really had subjected her to shadowplay to make her this reluctant to use her computer. It wouldn’t surprise her. After all, they could just remove her memories of it. It wouldn’t even be that hard for them. And it was just cruel enough to be possible -- leave her guessing, too afraid to try anything. 

She tapped the screen to boot it up. The Senate had seized her computer. But they'd sterilized the thing and given it back, newer and shinier than before. Heavylift hadn’t questioned it, just happy to have the one thing that made her life bearable back, even if she couldn’t get little pestering worries out of the back of her mind.

No response. She tapped it again. Then she pecked at a key to try something else. It clacked soothingly, and for a moment she was relieved. The clack of keys had always calmed her. It was a good sound.

A message popped up on screen. “Hello, Heavylift! Please tap the screen to start.”

Static buzzed in her audials, a high ringing shrieking behind it. For a second, she was afraid her processor had glitched, and she reset her optic’s visual feedback. Still the same message.   
The air felt hot and tight, and Heavylift couldn't seem to vent well enough to fix that. She tapped the screen, again, a little desperately. Nothing.

She tried again. Nothing. 

She tried again, frantically, and a tiny crack sprouted, a few pixels around it going dead.

Still nothing, and the screen faded from lack of perceived input.

Her computer was useless to her.

 

\----------

 

Heavylift still went to Slickers with her group. But… now that she was an empurata, none of her friends seemed too inclined to talk to her very much. Well, except Dropthing. But Dropthing was as loyal as they came, in a weird sort of way. It was funny to say that about the bot that had sold her out, but Heavylift found she couldn't fault him for that. It wasn't his fault that the Senate was the way that they were, after all. He didn’t show any signs of selling her out again -- and she supposed it was better to forgive. She just kept telling herself it wasn’t his fault.

Well. Maybe it was his fault that Heavylift couldn't fucking use her own computer.

“Yeah, did you hear about that new group that’s up and coming?” One of the group mentioned, and behind them, the door opened, one of the regulars coming in. Slickers wasn’t the only bar in town, but it had the best drinks for the cheapest prices, so it was the most popular. The regular came in, light tan plating shining dully in the light (mud was caked on her), and sat down at the counter. She looked like some sort of pickup truck.

“Oh, which one?” Someone else at the table perked up, as Heavylift pulled herself away from people-watching. They were always happy to hear gossip, admittedly Heavylift included. It wasn’t as if there was anything else to do. Maybe eat dirt.

“Call themselves the Decepticons, or something. Megatron is at the head. Wrote something called Towards Peace, I think. Heavylift, you heard of it?”

Heavylift fought irritation. She didn't know everything treasonous. It wasn't a hobby. But now that she was an empurata, it seemed like violence and treason was all that was expected of her. “NO. I HAVE NOT.”

“Aw,” another friend laughed, a dump truck. “Ain't that a surprise!”

Heavylift mimed a rude gesture with her claw, the other set of pincers clicking irritably.

“Right, right, sorry.”

“Anyways,” the previous friend cut in, “they say they're going to make things better for the lower class. Give those folks up in the Senate what for. Read them the riot act. You know.”

Heavylift glanced out of the corner of her visor, just barely tilting her helm, at Dropthing. The poor mech seemed like his circuits might melt. She ought to report the whole group here just for this. Sure, sedition and treason were in fashion now, but make a few viruses and have an eye for a face and suddenly nobody wanted to talk to you. Her vindictive fantasy faded, and shame took its place as she quietly bowed her head to look at her lap.

“MAYBE WE SHOULD TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE,” Heavylift suggested to the group, patting a claw against Dropthing’s arm. He seemed to flush with embarrassment, smiling a smile that resisted showing teeth.

“C’mon, you of all bots can't say shit.”

Heavylift just clinked her pincers together, tilting her helm.

“Point taken,” the mech grumbled. 

 

\----------

 

It was when Dropthing and Heavylift got back to their complex and transformed when Dropthing burst out, “I promise I won't report anybody else!” 

At the same time. Heavlift said in her droning monotone, “I CAN REPORT THEM FOR YOU, IF YOU LIKE.”

Dropthing froze.  
“Heavy, you okay? You -- are you sure they didn't do -- something?”

Her tanks clenched in fear. No, she wasn't, and she hated it. It kept her from sleeping properly, most nights. The fact that she had been so almost-ready to report her friends disturbed her. But if they showed no loyalty to her, a part of her asked why she should show any loyalty to them.

“THEY DIDN’T. BUT I KNOW YOU DON’T LIKE THAT KIND OF TALK, AND OUR FRIENDS CLEARLY DON’T CARE. NOT TO MENTION YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO DOESN’T MIND THAT I’M AN EMPURATA.”

“Aw, Heavy, c’mon, that's not true…”

Heavylift just inclined her helm. Dropthing always had been naive.

“Okay, maybe. But I think you're -- amazing, in spite of it. Because of it. I…” Dropthing hugged himself, looking at his pedes. “I don't know why I reported you. I just got scared.”

Heavylift patted his arm, pincer clanking against the metal. She was angry at Dropthing. He could've kept his big fat intake shut and nobody up in the Senate would have ever been the wiser. But maybe she could force herself to let it go, and the anger would fade with time. “I FORGIVE YOU. YOU DID WHAT YOU THOUGHT WAS RIGHT. SLEEP WELL, DROPTHING.”

She started to ascend the stairs, and Dropthing cried out. “Wait!”

So Heavylift paused, turning around, query clear in her EM field. Dropthing hugged himself, casting his eyes away from her bashfully as he fidgeted. “I think… I think your voice sounds nice like this. I know you don't like it, but…”

Dropthing wrung his servos, vents hugging as his cooling fans clicked on. “Ithinkit’sreallyniceandIthinkyou'reagreatbotgoodnight!”

Heavylift felt her own cooling fans click on at the confession and flattery, but Dropthing wasn't her type. It was less flattery and attraction and more flattery on principle. Besides. He was the reason her voice was the most monotone of sounds. Complimenting her on it made her plating crawl a little, even as her spark lightened with pleased embarrassment. “THANKS, DROP. I APPRECIATE IT. GOODNIGHT.”

And she went up the stairs.

 

\----------

 

Flux called in unwell to work the next day and took a trip down to Kaon, flying in at one of the rundown airports. That was the benefit of being a cargo plane -- she could call into the radio tower, schedule her own landing, and not even bother with public transportation. As she left the fenced-in airport, she looked around, taking in the lifeblood of Kaon. It was awful. Smog choked the air, dirt and filth crawling in the streets. It almost reminded her of Lower Crestover -- but Lower Crestover had never been so desperate. So hungry, so vicious. Lower Crestover was filled with people who knew they were down on their luck, through no fault of their own, and did everything they could to help their neighbor. Sharing was almost a cultural expectation. It was just in the atmosphere. You could tell when someone didn’t live there -- no one handed out their resources so readily as mecha from Lower Crestover. Even at great personal cost, people eagerly shared so that everyone could partake in things one needed to live.

She hugged her copy of Towards Peace close, though she dwarfed most mecha around her. Most really only came up to her shoulders. The way they eyed her suspiciously made her uneasy. This was not like Lower Crestover. There was an atmosphere of greed here, born from need and hunger. Instead of giving, there was an atmosphere of taking, of violently wrestling what you needed from someone more fortunate. So she kept walking, not allowing herself to look targetable. She knew how these cities worked. Muggers at every corner. She’d been here before, actually. She’d been nearly everywhere on Cybertron. After all, being a Senate cargo plane did have its travelling perks.

Rally. Rally. She was here for a rally. She sped up, gently brushing by mecha as she searched for the meeting place. Her wings cleared bots like sweepers. Flux arrived ten minutes early, the makeshift stage in the warehouse empty. A crowd had congregated, murmuring softly amongst itself as the people waited with bated breath.

She clutched the datapad to her chest as she settled into her spot in the crowd, near the back. Heavy pedes thunked up the steps to the stage, and the bot attached was huge, gunmetal gray, and marked with battle scars. The crowd whispered furiously, and Flux felt her own optics widen in excitement as her spark beat faster. Was this Megatron?

The mech came to a stop center stage, and lifted a fist into the air.

“You are being deceived!” He roared, and Flux was hopelessly hooked right then and there.

Later on, when she heard there was a group to meet Megatron she jumped in immediately. The warrior-poet was shorter than Flux was, though that didn't surprise her. Everybody was. But his charisma more than made up for it. “And you are?”

“Flux. I've never really… been to one of these before.”

“I hope you found it moving?” His optics were deep red, and hypnotizing. There was so much power in them. So much conviction. Flux couldn’t help but feel that she had found a match. A kindred spark, so frustrated and so angry with the injustice of how things were. She nodded emphatically, still holding the datapad of Towards Peace dear. It caught Megatron's eye, and the bot extended a servo. “May I?”

“Of course!” She handed it over, and Megatron started to sign it.

“I’m --” She hesitated. Yes, she had started off in Lower Crestover, but she had managed to claw her way up to Middle Crestover. Perhaps she didn’t have the right to be as angry as she was about things. “I'm Military class, so I know the system doesn't really affect me as much as other classes, but…”

Megatron shook his helm as he handed back the datapad. “You don't need to be under the pede to see that it’s crushing other mecha. This isn’t the Oppression Games, it’s not a competition. Good luck to you, Flux. I hope to see you again.”

“Thank you!” And she scurried away, out of the warehouse and out of Kaon, giddy. As she made her way back to Crestover, she thought on Megatron’s words, absorbing them into her spark. She finally got to her apartment and snuggled into berth, reverently running her blunt digits over the signed datapad over and over again. It felt like she was in a daze.

She went to every rally that she could after that, datapad still in servo. It turns out, being a Senate cargo plane had perks two times over. After all, she was afforded a few days to stay in a dropoff-pickup location. If the rally fell in the timeframe of those few days where she was, she could go without consequence. 

 

\---------

 

It was at Slickers a couple of weeks later that Heavylift got an update on the Decepticon situation. Dropthing had left early, after the gossip had started. Heavylift had let him go, not caring enough to go after him.

“Yeah, them Decepticons are really getting bold,” the dump truck announced. “Heard last week that they had a rally outside of Kaon.”

“Seriously?” The ringleader of their little group, a mixer truck, gaped. Heavylift idly clicked her pincers and thought it made him look stupid. She had to suppress a chuckle. She didn’t have friends, really. Not anymore. These were just acquaintances now, people to sit with so she could hear what was going on in the world. They tolerated her. She tolerated them. They coexisted.

“Yeah, it was nearby. That Megatron guy is getting really daring. They’re protesting all over the place these days. I hear it’s really rattling the government’s plating. They’ve even got supporters in the government!”

“That’s wild. Heavylift, you know about this?”

Heavylift strongly resisted the urge to groan out loud. “NO.”

“What happened to you, eh? You used to be public enemy number one!”

Crossly, Heavylift clicked her pincers, yellow circle of light for an eye narrowing into an irritated slit. An awkward silence fell over the table and the ringleader coughed to clear it. “Yeah, well.”

Someone else picked up where his more tactful counterpart had left off. “Well, now you look the part, eh? Or -- should I say ‘eye’?” he giggled, and Heavylift attempted to spear him to the floor with a glare. It didn’t work -- just got her brushed off as cross, so she stormed out, not pushing her chair back in. As she was leaving, she heard them mumble something about how she was a lot more irritable after becoming an empurata, and that was all she heard before the door shut.

She found the date and location of the next rally. It was just down the street from Slickers, which didn’t surprise her. Carthex didn’t have a lot of space for rallies, but there was a large, wide, yawning strip mine that had been abandoned, like dozens, even hundreds of its siblings. Rumors were that the city was thinking about building some sort of complex there, following the sloping, spiralling lines of the mine, but for now it lay abandoned, laid open to the sky. So, three days later, the mining cart hung around outside, listening as her pincers clicked. The words were alluring, sure. Intense, poetic, irresistible, even. She watched the crowd gathered in the geometrical basin, with the speaker a few ridges above, shouting to be heard.

She looked down at her not-hands and touched her not-face.

It wasn't as if people hadn't spoken out before. Even people who hadn’t spoken out had gotten brought in. And look what had happened to them. She silently wished all at the rally good luck and crept back home.

 

\-----------

 

Flux had been showing up to public rallies, with undying devotion. Hanging on every word, wide and starry eyed. She cheered when the crowd cheered, participated in protests, held signs, helped start recruitment drives. Then came the day where she was leaving a rally near Rodion, and the mech tending the door reached out and grabbed her arm with a pincer. His single optic burned into her. Empurata victim, then.

“Megatron is holding a private get-together, in his quarters in the Pits of Kaon,” he said, lowly. “He expressed the wish that you might show up.”

Flux blinked, feeling her spark skip a beat. “Me?”

“Yes. He admires your dedication. Will you come?”

“Yes, of course!”

The mech gave her the time, and let her go. Flux showed up five minutes early to the meeting, the same mech that had told her about it letting her into the building. Megatron’s quarters were just one set of many beneath the gladiatorial arena in the Pits. The door was slightly cracked, low voices emanating from it.

Megatron’s quarters were notably spartan -- a recharge slab and a table. The table had been dragged to the middle of the room and Megatron stood leaned over it, pointing to a large, cheap datapad. Another mech stood next to him, bright blue with a gray panel on his chest and a blaster mounted on his shoulder. 

Flux knocked on the door as it opened further, nervousness flaring. She had never been particularly shy, but she did have a bit of an isolationist streak, and so she had never had much attention lavished personally on her before. Especially not from someone so important -- so revolutionary.

Megatron paused mid-word, and broke into an easy smile. “Ah, Flux. Welcome. Meet Soundwave.”

“Hi, Soundwave,” Flux greeted, smiling at him.

“Flux has been a devoted attendant at many of the rallies,” Megatron explained to Soundwave, who considered Flux silently for a moment. Then, he nodded. 

“Welcome.”

His voice was mechanical and grating, but Flux just smiled. “Happy I could make it!”

“Please, come over. I apologize, my furnishings are a bit… sparse.” Megatron inclined his helm to her.

“That’s okay,” Flux said, lumbering over and looking at the large datapad, craning her neck to see -- she was at a weird angle. “What’s that?”

“Oh, this…”Megatron straightened, and sighed through his nose. The air was soft in the gladiator’s chambers, a contrast to the harsh angles of Megatron’s plating. “I must confess, this meeting isn't entirely social. Soundwave and I are… in the midst of planning something. Nothing serious, just… something to make the Senate take us seriously. More people are joining every day, but I fear violence may be our only course of action.”

Flux found the concept didn't make her quail. If they'd already exhausted other avenues, what other road was there to take? “What’s the plan?”

Megatron glanced at her, optics guarded. Flux felt as if she were about to breach something important -- some sort of trust barrier. She got the feeling that, if she went through with what Megatron was gearing up to ask of her, her life would be irreversibly changed. “Your altmode is a cargo plane, correct?”

“Oh, yes.”

“How might you feel about grand larceny?”

 

\----------

 

Heavylift walked into Slickers a week later to see her buddies ablaze with chatter -- at least, more chatter than usual. 

“Heavy!” Dropthing waved her over. So Heavylift sat next to him, and he beamed in greeting. “Heavy, you'll never guess what happened.”

The ringleader spoke up. “Yeah, did you hear? Those Cons did a smash and grab on a pharmaceutical place. Made off with all kinds of drugs. News says they're just gonna sell ‘em, but I've got a buddy in Kaon that says they're distributing them to people that need them for nothing though clinics.”

Dropthing, for once, didn't look scared out of his processor at political talk.  
“Isn't that -- wow, Heavylift.”

Heavylift’s spark pounded. She would love to march on down to the nearest Decepticon signup station and put her name down. Maybe they would even give her her helm and her hands back. But she was on thin ice. If she hadn't already undergone shadowplay, she had no intention of starting today. “YEAH. WHAT HAPPENED?”

Slabdry, the mixer truck, shrugged. “Oh, fuck if I know. You know the news never wants to give you the whole story. They say a group raided the place and then made a getaway in a cargo plane.”

Heavylift stayed behind, watching the news on the bar holoscreen. She didn't have one at her apartment. She couldn't afford it, and she couldn't access her computer for news, either. She hadn’t even tried, after her first experience. She knew it was fruitless; after all, the Senate had only given it back to spite her.

“... we’re still working on these developments, but authorities think that the Decepticons involved were as follows… Soundwave, Megatron, Flux, and...”

Pictures showed up, some blurry and grainy. Flux’s was by far the best -- a quality picture, from some sort of work ID. She was Military class, some sort of Senate cargo plane, but Heavylift couldn’t identify the facility just by looking at the card. It was gone before she could think of it any more, moving on to the next grainy picture.

Heavylift shook her helm and left, driving home. 

 

\----------

*******  
Flux was in the clinics of Kaon helping pass out that medicine right alongside the rest of her new family, and she knew in her spark that she couldn't go back to her apartment, or probably even comm Aberhalde. So she didn’t. The Senate had probably already visited, anyways -- going back was a surefire way to get her helm scrambled. 

The mech had a momentary pang of loss thinking about all of the datapads she was giving up, but that became the least of her worries as she had to find a place to stay and fuel to intake. She still had Towards Peace; that was what mattered, and she kept it secure in her subspace, a cherished gem. On sleepless or fuelless nights she would read it and softly mouth lines that stood out to her as her optics scanned them. It almost seemed to replenish her energy and refill her tanks when she couldn’t find food or sleep.

After her help on the raid, however, she and Megatron had only become closer. When she couldn't find a place to rest her helm for the night, she quickly discovered his door was always open, and they often stayed up late into the night, casually drinking and laughing. Even though his salary as a gladiator was meager, his fuel supply even more pitiful, he always found some to share. Flux liked Megatron, and not just because his deeds matched his words. He was honestly a good mech, a good friend, a good partner in crime.

*******

The plane swirled her cheap energon, grinning a shit-eating grin as her audials caught the dull light, rising above her helm like ironed-straight, cylindrical horns. “Remember when you almost fell through the ceiling of that pharmaceutical place?”

“Don't remind me, lunkhead,” Megatron growled, but it was fond. His red eyes glowed with a soft sort of affection one usually reserved for sparkkin. 

“Hey, I said almost. Though, the sight of one leg swinging around in surprise was-” She cut herself off to quietly gigglesnort -- “-amusing.”

“You can say hilarious, I know you want to. You turborat bastard.”

At that, having been given permission, Flux laughed outright, throwing her helm back and spilling some of the Energon on her servo. It trickled through the mechanisms in her hand and was only missed for a fraction of a second in the back of her processor. “You're damn right I do! Oh, Primus that was good! I hear a crack and down comes a chunk of the ceiling, and what do I see? I see a leg and a pede hanging there swinging away like there’s no tomorrow, and I can hear you swearing like only a poet can up there! I had no idea curses could be strung together like that, truly I didn't.”

“Alright, alright, pipe down.” Megatron leaned back, grinning. “You’ll get me in trouble. I’m not supposed to have overnight guests. They might put you to work here if you’re not careful.” Then, something seemed to dawn on him. “You have a way with words too, don't you?”

“Hm? I suppose. I do love them.” Flux laughed, finishing off her Energon. “I’ve always really loved them, you know? So much you can express in so many different ways.”

“Mhm.” Megatron considered her, calculating. “How would you like to take a more active role in the movement?”

“Of course! Anything you ask.” 

“The rallies are getting popular. I think it would help to have a second voice to the movement, but Soundwave doesn't want to, and I agree with his decision. You are passionate about the cause, and you are eloquent enough -- what do you say?”

Flux froze. She blinked, once, twice. “What?”

Megatron reiterated, “Would you speak at rallies to drum up support?”

Flux was currently in shock, optics blinking every once in a while as they stared blankly at Megatron's faceplate. "You want -- me? To speak at rallies of my own?"

"You have all the right qualities." Megatron inclined his helm, respectfully, as if she were a decorated officer. "You’re confident, assertive, accessible and very good with words. I appreciate that."

"Me? At rallies? Like you?"

"Well, on second thought -- I might have to rescind the offer." Megatron chuckled mirthfully at his own little joke.

"No, please!" As Flux lunged forwards to reassure, she extended a hand. She put a servo on her thigh to balance herself. "I would be honored. I would be honored to do something so important. "

“Thank you,” Megatron said, sincerely, “I think you’ll do wonderfully.”

“I might have to do something about this babyface,” Flux joked, overcoming her shock to jest again. She gestured to her face, which was a set of soft angles, containing a strong nose. She had no eyebrows, as her constructors hadn’t seen fit to give a military class bot any, and her chinpiece was small and delicate. The brightest feature of her face was her large, round, yellow eyes, lit like soft lamps. Indeed, ‘babyfaced’ was the perfect way to describe her. People still thought she was right off of the assembly line.

Megatron laughed, and shrugged. “You’ve been saying that for months.”

“Maybe so!” Flux giggled, and then leaned her elbow on the table between them. “Hey, we should take a picture! You know, for old times’ sake? We can look back on this a millennia from now and say, ‘oh look, Megatron actually seemed kind of sweet!’”

Megatron burst out laughing, and Flux joined him, and they crammed close for a picture, arms over each others’ shoulders as they beamed at the datapad that Flux produced. She snapped the picture and they instantly rushed to look at it, tittering excitedly like newframes. For a few seconds, the hunger gnawing at their tanks wasn’t felt and the government was forgotten, and they stared down at the picture. 

“We should take a whole series as we go,” Flux proposed, beaming with joy, and Megatron agreed as Flux made copies for both of them and sent them so that they would both have the moment saved in time.


	3. Tumult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flux gives her first speech, the Decepticon movement is gaining steam and is attempting to branch out to bigger places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers: extremely brief, passing derogatory mention of drug use at the beginning of paragraph 39 (counting single-sentence paragraphs)**

Flux eagerly snatched up the opportunity Megatron gave her to speak. She’d never been camera shy or frightened of the stage. At the same time, she didn't crave the spotlight. She preferred to work quietly just off the radar. If someone lauded an achievement of hers, she’d certainly accept, but she was no career politician. Career  _ activist _ \-- sure. She had several treasured selfies of herself posing next to her newly applied graffiti on municipal buildings and celebrating, and she had pulled her weight and then some at protests. If Megatron felt that she would do well at rallies, then he must have known something Flux didn't yet. Perhaps she  _ was _ good at bureaucracy.

 

That was how Flux ended up being the keynote speaker at a small rally in Kaon. It was in an old warehouse, with crates stacked around for impromptu seating. The only reason she was keynote speaker was that the one other bot slated to speak had abdicated her title to the cargo plane. A close personal friend of Megatron’s would have more pull as a speaker than she, and Flux graciously accepted the offer. A stage had been constructed out of something that looked suspiciously like scaffolding, and through the pockmarked roof, light strung through in cheerful streamers. As Flux ascended the stage and looked out at the crowd of bots, she thought of herself for a moment, when she was new and unsure. Right in the back, datapad clutched to her chest. The awe, the wonder. A few mecha near the back mirrored her suspense and anticipation, and her processor flickered to Megatron briefly.

 

She wasn't Megatron; she couldn't pull off warrior-poet. Nor did she want to. She wasn't here to speak as Megatron, she was here to speak  _ for _ him -- for the Cause. Flux let the atmosphere hang as she took a final step and settled herself on her pedes. The crowd chattered, and she called for quiet, ready to say her piece. There were things that needed to be said -- injustices that needed to be addressed, as she thirsted to spill them and the crowd hungered to shred them.

  
  
At first, the crowd still chattered. Flux frowned. "Quiet, please!"

  
  
The crowd quieted down. The air buzzed with energy, and Flux took a deep, measured vent. This was her moment. She could feel her spark tugged by a greater calling, and in that moment of calm, she knew. She knew Megatron had made the right decision, that she had made the right decision. This was what she was meant to do -- this is what she had been  _ made _ to do.    
  


"We are  _ all _ equal," she began thunderously, sweeping a servo out and slightly behind to demonstrate her point, "and it's high time that be known!"

  
  
The crowd blazed with excited chatter, optics glued to her, and Flux met optics with several to hold attention.  She started to pace around the stage, her convictions strong. Every hour she’d spent yelling in front of her holovid news -- every private, rebellious thought she hadn’t bothered to internalize -- here, she could share them. Here, she could have a forum for the revolution. She was angry about this government. How could she not be? The injustice of it all burned her alive in her own plating. "The Senate says your alt mode defines you. How would you feel being tended to by a doctor with tank treads, they ask? How would you feel if your bartender was a memory stick? Or if you report to your boring office job with an mixer truck? Enough of this, I say! Who  _ cares _ what someone turns into? Why  _ should _ we? What’s it to us?”

 

Flux stomped a pede, heavily. It thundered in the room, a little dust falling from the rafters, and snapped the crowd’s attention back to her, even though it hadn’t started to wane. There had been a chorus of “aye”s from various parts of the crowd as statements had rung with people. "This is a  _ blatant _ attempt to erase our individuality -- our very _ sparks! _ To dim our processors, to make us their pet turborats running through their little social maze while they hoard the wealth to themselves!"

  
A few people whistled, cheering.   
  
"I say enough! I say enough of this! Mecha should not live in fear of their governments! We shouldn’t have to play by their rules when their rules only make sense if you’re sitting at the top!" she shouted, and then stilled for a moment.   


  
"I suppose I have had it easier than some," she led, contemplating. The room was deathly quiet, hanging on her every word. "The Senate defines me as Military Class. I was constructed in Lower Crestover with my sparktwin. We lived in a shit apartment that sometimes didn’t have power and we sometimes went a few days before the next paycheck without food. But I moved to Middle Crestover, and money came easier. I know this is not a universal -- or even a common experience."   


  
Her voice quieted further, but she projected such passion into it that it lowly carried all the way to the back of the room. "But then I met Megatron. I met Megatron and I gave it up, and I would give it all up a  _ thousand-fold _ for the cause! You do not have to be under the pede to see that it's crushing other mecha! That much is plain to see!"   


  
More cheering. Flux continued, thundering voice carrying perfectly through the makeshift auditorium. She wound the crowd up as her speech went on, wound them up with fervor. The air hummed with energy. A few motes of dust hung in shafts of light that beamed down, and they were frozen in the air, listening with rapt attention at the arpeggios of revolution spilling themselves from Flux’s lips.

  
"You should not just listen to me," she demanded, pointing subtly as she paced some more. All optics were locked on her, as not a vent was heard in the room. "Attend Megatron's rallies. Hear us in the streets! Every time you see somebody with a sign being arrested, ask yourself, _'is it worth it? Is my silence and peace worth the subjugation of so many?'_ The Senate arrests us on the streets because they are _running_ _scared!_ They _know_ their message is flimsy! They _know_ their propaganda is nonsense! They _know_ that the people could easily rise up and take matters into their own servos -- could easily make their own system! A system that does not rely on _punching down,_ but rather _building up!_ A system where you support your fellow mech, a system where you do not _ask_ why your doctor has tank treads because you know they are qualified no matter _what_ their alt mode is!"   


  
Flux stood still, and thrust a fist into the air, as the crowd cheered by instinct. She shouted over them, spark pounding in her chamber as the light glinted off of her chestplate windows and her audials."Let it resonate down to your  _ sparkchamber! _ Form does not dictate function! It never  _ has, _ and it  _ never fucking will! _ "   


  
The crowd howled, more ferociously this time, and Flux vented heavily, fist hanging in the air for a couple of moments before she let it drop, spark roaring in her audials and fuel rushing through her lines like fire. She had found her calling. She had found her destiny. 

 

After the rally, Flux stayed to help clean up with the other speaker. Her name was Chermiin of Stripangxa, and she was very pretty. Flux often found herself staring out of the corner of her eye, as energon rushed to heat her cheeks. Chermiin was strong, a sturdy frame, with tank treads in her legs and shoulders. She had strong arms and acute, severe features. Two sets of horns graced her head, both curving back, almost forming a crown. The light fell on her frame just right. Dark grays and black, with shades of oranges as highlights, some more vibrant than others, her frame was a masterpiece of power and allure. The two picked up trash and dismantled the stage, chatting quietly, until Flux coughed into her fist, smiling hesitantly. “So… um… Chermiin, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Chermiin flashed the same sort of smile at Flux, and they both giggled at each other before looking away. “I already know your name.”

 

“Aha, yeah. So… um… I liked your speech. It was really good.”

 

“ _ Mine? _ You were the keynote, you were fantastic. I’m not cut out for this whole public speech thing. I’m good at punching things and breaking things, and that’s about it. I’m filling a role, you know? Someone needs to. I’m glad you’ve stepped up to the plate.” Chermiin laughed, and Flux dismantled another section of the stage, tossing it in the pile to the side. 

 

“I liked it. Maybe you’re not the best, but I thought it was honest, and accessible. And I think people need honest and accessible these days. So. Um, yeah.” She smiled again, and ducked her helm, as Chermiin’s orange optics lingered. 

 

“... Thanks. That’s really nice of you. Say, um -- I’ve got, drinks. At my place. Want to have a few?”

 

“Drinks?” Flux’s face heated even further and she smiled, wider. “I’d love to.”

 

The cargo plane began speaking at rallies whenever she could, wherever she could, and she could feel the Senate working itself into a froth over it. She knew there were mecha planted in the audience; they weren't subtle. She also knew they were taking footage, probably to hack together for a fear-mongering news report. They could gaslight the populace all they liked -- something greater had been set in motion. Something greater than the government, or Flux, or Megatron himself. The very value of equality itself was rising from the ground, demanding to be heard. Somewhere in a very petty place in her spark, the cargo plane was a bit flattered that they considered her so much of a threat as to pay that much attention to her.

 

In the face of building tension, still she spoke, laying it on thick and letting her own righteous fury bleed forth from her lips. At times she worked herself to tears and a choked voice during her speeches. It was different from Megatron’s measured, but impassioned meter, and it quickly carved out her niche as the voice of the movement right alongside Megatron. His was still the most important; Flux never passed up an opportunity to remind mecha of this, and kept herself a metaphorical half-step behind her leader at all times. It was after one of these rallies that she took the newly crafted Decepticon badge, wearing the symbol of justice, freedom and equality proudly emblazoned across her chest. She had had it taken from her spark casing in a show of devotion.

 

The Senate, with mounting pressure building against them, did their best to rid themselves of the problem. Busting in on rallies, passing the Decepticon Registry Act, raiding the homes of prominent Decepticon activists. Arrests skyrocketed, and it was a miracle that neither Flux nor Megatron had been arrested yet. It made them bold. If that was all the Senate had, they were weaker than anticipated. Still, things heated further and further, and still lovely words poured like sweetened bloody barbs from Flux’s intake, laid like worship at Megatron’s pedes.

  
  
  


\--------------

  
  


Morning rose in Crestover Heights, and ReDouble stretched as he woke slowly, venting with a sleepy smile. The air was cool, but the blankets were toasty and snuggly. The microscope felt like he could stay this way forever. He didn’t want to wake up just yet. He had had such a  _ lovely _ dream...

 

His berth had required an upsizing thanks to his massive conjunx, but she was ever so warm and cozy to recharge against. And the berth was very nice. For things like -- sleeping.

 

Capacitor shifted, yawning and sitting up, and ReDouble grumbled, resenting the fading heat source. He attempted to cling onto her arm, and it dragged him forwards a little with her, pulling him out of his warm spot. He complained with a whine of protest, eyes still shut stubbornly as he burrowed further into the sheets, still clinging onto Capacitor’s arm.

 

“I have the day off today,” the microscope heard Capacitor say.

 

“Okay,” ReDouble led, cracking an optic open. He almost said ‘what does that have to do with me?’, but thought better of it. After all, that would have been mean -- and that wasn’t how ReDouble was intending it to come across. It was just early, and his brain simply couldn’t conjure up a reason as to how Capacitor having the day off today had any sort of thing to do with him. 

 

“So, pretty boy, don't you want to have the day off with me?” Capacitor laid a servo over her chestplates and grinned, three cockpit panels over her clavicular area glinting with morning light. It was beautiful.

 

ReDouble jolted like he’d been tasered, the idea hitting him like a ton of bricks as his eyelids flew open. Of course that’s what she’d been implying! He paused, mulling it over. There was that awfully boring project at the lab lately, and he hadn't taken a day off in quite a while… besides. He’d had a hard time focusing on that project lately, maybe he could stay home for the day and take a break to get his pedes back under him. Take a lazy day. And Capacitor was nice to be around, and more than a little attractive. They’d met years ago, in Lower Crestover. It was quite the funny story -- ReDouble had been attempting to buy a new coil for his vape and some new flavors, and he’d literally run into her outside. He was in Lower Crestover for fear of seeing someone he recognized anywhere else. 

 

The two of them had ended up talking, they’d hit it off, and they’d hooked up that night, keeping in contact until they decided to try and go out. Capacitor had a twin -- ReDouble wondered what had become of her. They used to be good friends -- but Flux and Capacitor had gotten something wedged between them, and they split apart, butting heads until they were too bitter with each other to be in the same room. So they stopped talking, and ReDouble didn’t see the other cargo plane again. It was a shame -- he really liked her, and she was nice. Despite her growing feud with her sparktwin, she’d never been anything but civil to him. But they fell out of contact when Flux and Capacitor stopped speaking, and they’d never reconnected.

 

“I'll call in sick,” he mumbled, after a moment, drawing the blankets tighter around himself and shutting his optics again. His poor impulse control didn’t need much convincing to stay home and avoid the boring project. Capacitor’s field flared with smug affection and ReDouble’s spark skipped. He always loved that look she got on her face, with her lips pulled into a smug grin and her yellow eyes a little narrowed. She looked like some sort of hunter, and it never failed to make ReDouble’s insides melt. He cracked an eye open to see it, and from through the nest of blankets he saw her lick her chops and look him up and down, hint clear.

 

They ended up in the den later that morning with steaming mugs of sweetened energon for brunch, watching the news as light filtered through the blinds. ReDouble tried not to fidget. He’d left his vape pen in the other room, and just the news really wasn’t doing it to keep his processor occupied.

 

Admittedly, ReDouble wasn't as interested in the news as Capacitor, but she always cared to stay more in touch than he did. He supposed it was a habit from Lower Crestover, along with hoarding food.  He was a bit… oblivious, not having the mental energy to focus on -- well, everything. More often than not he found himself dreaming off into space. He also regularly forgot he could get up and walk from his office chair rather than scoot around while reading results, but Capacitor didn’t have to know that. He was pretty sure she knew already, unfortunately, but he could pretend.  The microscope snapped back to reality when the cargo plane tensed, sitting up with her optics glued to the holovid screen. ReDouble glanced at the screen to see what had his conjunx so riled up, and blinked in shock. The report was about the Decepticon uprising, specifically about one of its ringleaders. The news chyron scrolling across the bottom read as “DECEPTICON ACTIVIST LEADER IMPLORES FOR VIOLENCE TO BE EXACTED”. A heavy-framed, slate gray mech stood on a makeshift stage, and though the footage was poor, ReDouble recognized the cockpit windows, the wings, the turbines, the audial receptors. Her frame was huge and sturdy, built for endurance and stamina, and it looked eerily similar to Capacitor’s. “Is that -- your twin, sweetspark?”

 

“Of course it fucking is,” Capacitor muttered. “She never did know when to keep her damned intake shut. You know she lives with that quack, right? That medic downtown.”

 

“No, I didn't. Isn't that clinic a revolving door of druggies?”  _ We bumped into each other for the first time even  _ **_further_ ** _ downtown _ , ReDouble wanted to say. Again, he thought better of it. Capacitor often overcompensated to fit in with the upper class. It wasn’t the most appealing habit, as she’d adopted a lot of views even ReDouble himself didn’t entirely agree with, but he supposed he could let it slide. After all, she wasn’t hurting anyone.

 

Said bot wrinkled her nose. “Yes.”

 

ReDouble sighed, extending a servo after a second’s thought to rub Capacitor’s arm. “Let it go. Can't choose your family.”

 

“I wish her spark had guttered out before it attached to her frame.” Capacitor rolled her eyes, and at Capacitor’s statement, ReDouble cringed a little, lips pulling away from his teeth. That was a bit harsh, wasn’t it? After all, they weren’t speaking, but it was because of a mutual fight -- not because Flux had abused Capacitor or anything of the like. On screen, Flux thrust a fist into the air, optics alight with righteous fire. “ _ Down with the fucking Functionists! _ ”

 

Ice-cold shock hit ReDouble, waking him up fully. It was a rude awakening. He nearly choked on the sip he had taken, and after recovering, he rasped throatily, “She’s got bearings, hasn't she?”

 

“She’s stupid. She’s always been the dumb one.” Capacitor turned the holovid screen off, and ReDouble sipped at his mug, servo idly stroking her arm. Politics were stressful, and he didn’t like them. So he stayed away for the most part, and distracted himself with his science, his friends, and his conjunx. After a few minutes, Capacitor began to relax.

 

“I'm glad I bonded with you,” she said. 

 

His servo paused for a moment, before resuming its gentle sweeps. “I am as well, sweetspark.” ReDouble finished off his mug, setting it aside as he snuggled tighter into the blanket, shivering once. “Put those warm fuzzies to work, why don't you? I'm cold.”

 

“You're always cold,” Capacitor retorted, but slid an arm around him regardless. He hummed, happily, and wriggled further into her embrace and the blanket, circuits buzzing with content.

  
  
  


\-----------

  
  
  


“Flux, are you sure about this? Having a rally just outside of Iacon is downright reckless.”

Megatron’s red optics searched Flux’s own yellow ones, concerned. They had only grown closer these past few weeks, Megatron feeling more like a brother than a friend. They considered each other spark-kin, more spark-kin than Flux’s legitimate sparktwin.

 

The cargo plane vented steadily, nodding, tall audials flashing in the light of Megatron’s quarters. Her Decepticon badge, polished with love and care, shone in the light as well, cunning eyes of the symbol spearing out from her chest as if daring all who viewed it to think long and hard about the government. Above them, there was a crowd in the stadium, there to see a match. “If we can't reach mecha from all across Cybertron, what’s the point?”

 

Megatron opened his intake to reply, and Flux held up a digit, cutting him off. He closed his mouth, eye ridges pulling up as he let her speak. “I think the movement is ready. Consult Soundwave if you need a third opinion, but I think the Decepticons are ready.  _ I'm _ ready. It’s time we branched out and showed the Senate we mean business. I’m not looking to start a riot -- I just want them to know we’re not going away.”

 

“Flux, the Senate is  _ watching _ you,” her leader replied in frustration, voice pleading with her to see reason.

 

“They're watching  _ everybody, _ don’t flatter me. If we can't take risks, what is this even for? What’s the point of all this? How can we be an inspiration if we stay cowed by the thing we’re fighting against?” The cargo plane crossed her arms, stubbornly staring the warrior-poet down.

 

He crossed his arms back, lips pursed. “Flux, the Senate will not hesitate to crack open your processor like an egg and do whatever they want, and they're just waiting for the right chance,” Megatron cautioned, resting a servo on her shoulder turbine. “I'm afraid this might be giving it to them. You are a dear friend, and I don't want you to get hurt. I’m just suggesting that we be careful. Revolutions that get snuffed in the beginning don’t do anything but die. We have to play the long game.”

 

Flux calmed at that, but still frowned. “Do you still know that clerk?”

 

“Yes, why?”

 

“Think she can whip up a few permits for a public assembly?”

 

“Flux,” Megatron warned, eyeing her, and she rested a servo over the one on her shoulder. 

 

“They can't touch me without making a big stir if I have the right permits, and a big stir is exactly what they don't need right now, with their whole Decepticon Registry Act in play. They want to look like they’re easing off -- so they have to let me speak. Either way, they're hanging themselves.”

 

Megatron’s faceplate went from sternly cautionary, fading into conspiratorially grinning, in the low light of his quarters. Above, in the Pit, the crowd cheered as the deathmatch above them took a thrilling turn. “ _ You _ are an undersold genius. I'll see what I can do.”

 


	4. Aseptic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flux is arrested for Crimes, Capacitor and ReDouble muse about her actions, and Flux has a run-in with the Institute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers:**
> 
>  
> 
> **police abuse of power/making up evidence/assault, lines 36-46**
> 
>  
> 
> **attempted brainwashing/mind control/shadowplay lines 128-135**

For her next rally, Flux -- with permits in subspace -- stepped up to the stage in a low-end auditorium on the outskirts of Iacon. It was the most extravagant venue she had spoken in, and the curtains were raggedy and musty. A thin film of dust covered the unused chairs, and the floor was dirty. The whole room smelled old. She swept a glance over the crowd, and was more than a little pleased to find a few higher-class mecha. Most of the crowd was middle or upper middle class, and a good portion was comprised of her devoted regulars, having gone out of their way to make it. The air was thick, slow, soft. It felt like it was waiting to receive her words, almost, hushed in anticipation.

 

“I'll try and save a little of the spitfire,” Flux joked to start, reading the crowd and a quiet laugh rippled through those assembled. Her usual impassioned cries would only serve to drive those in upper class away, but if she was too lukewarm, her regular attendees would accuse her of pandering and softening her message. There was a hairline golden zone, and she couldn't stray a breath. This was the biggest challenge yet. So the cargo plane vented, and grew serious. “That said, there are things that need to be said, and I know you know that too. I know you're aware of that, because you're here. You know as well as I do that something is wrong, and even though some of you may not know quite what yet, I commend you for trying to find out. I'll tell you. This system is wrong because its classification is arbitrary.”

 

Flux let that hang in the air for a moment, using the dramatic pause to covertly survey the crowd. Too much? Not enough? Some mecha were looking away. Time to put some more passion back into her words. Stroking the ego of higher-class mecha worked as well, as much as they denied it. Even if it was fake progressiveness in an attempt to look with the times, it was still progressiveness. “Not just arbitrary --  _ harmful! _ The classification is a deliberate grab for power by the Senate! They think that we can keep ourselves in check if all we can occupy our processors with is pointing digits at other mecha.  _ Aren't you sick of it?  _ We have  _ all _ been deceived, for far too long, I say!”

 

There. That caught attention.

 

“We have  _ all  _ been deceived. I am not demanding that you sign up with the Decepticons, and pledge your allegiance to the cause. I implore you -- I  _ exhort _ you,  _ please _ ,  _ certainly _ \-- but I do not demand. We are not the Senate! We don't  _ break _ you if you don't bend. All that we ask is that you step back from your mundane pedantries, the hustle and bustle of your every day, and ask yourself,  _ ‘what can I do to make things better? Not just for myself, but for others? _ ’ That’s all we ask. Whether you join the Decepticons or not, do what you can.  _ Always _ do what you can.”

 

Flux paused again, venting. She carried on, quietly so mecha had to lean in with anticipation for her words. “Do what you can. If that means joining this movement, I will be happy to sign you on myself. Things need to change --  _ you _ know it.  _ I _ know it. This life is unsustainable. Sooner or later, the lid’s going to blow off the pot and things are going to explode. We’re not trying to burn down the world. But if something is built on rust…” She took a breath, and swept a servo out. “I say  _ tear it down! _ ”

 

She’d found her stride, it seemed, and she opened her intake to continue when the doors busted in and Senate enforcers strode in. She stopped, mouth still open and arm still held out, as the enforcers barrelled in, storming down the aisles in between the seats. “Flux of Lower Crestover, you're under arrest for assembly without a permit and sedition!”

 

The crowd scattered like so many frightened rats, gasping and chattering amongst themselves. A few Senate plants separated from the hectic dash for safety and fell into rank and file with the enforcers as they approached the stage.

 

Flux stood calmly on the platform, face neutral as she produced the permits, moving slowly and with her hands visible at all times. She kept herself very still and nonthreatening, putting her hands up to show there was nothing in them but the permits before she extended them out to be taken. Even so, nerves wriggled in her gut. After all, the Senate didn’t shy away from enforcer brutality -- or if they did, it wasn’t so much in the form of limiting their officers than gaslighting the public. “Sorry, gentlemecha. All permits accounted for, and I think you missed the part where I said I'm not here to burn it all down. Perhaps you should have snuck in earlier.”

<b>***</b>

Two larger mecha ascended the side steps, and Flux was tense, watching them. One snatched the permits, and read them, frowning. The air was tense, a tight coil of apprehension mirroring the one in Flux's tanks. She kept her face very neutral, but her throat belied the harsh swallow she choked down, watching the first enforcer’s eyes scorch the permit, trying to find any loophole they could. Apparently, the permits were as good as they had been promised to be.

 

“Damn.”

 

Flux had to let out a relieved sigh at that, but cried out when the one slightly behind her pushed her suddenly, and then staggered back herself, theatrically. The stage shook with Flux's stumbling steps as she regained her balance, turning to face her aggressor.

 

The one holding the papers dropped them and rushed to her side. “What’s the matter?”

 

“She pushed me!” Flux’s assailant cried, and glared at the cargo plane. “You just assaulted an enforcer,” the bot ‘blown on her ass’ snarled, and the rest of the enforcers swarmed up to clamp a protesting Flux’s servos behind her back, cuffing them and leading her out as she howled that it was against the law and they were detaining her illegally.

  
<b>***</b>

\-----------

  
  
  


Capacitor came into the kitchen, getting home in time to see ReDouble paused mid-meal, glued to the small kitchen holovid screen with horrified fascination. His blue optics were wide and round behind his half-moon glasses. “I'm home,” Capacitor announced, after a moment, and ReDouble started, optics never leaving the screen. He distractedly waved her over.

 

“Dearspark, you're going to want to see this.”

 

Capacitor came over, leaned over him and focused in on the screen. Another news report. Breaking news, it seemed, still developing. The brownish-gray cargo plane’s optics widened. “Flux?  _ Arrested? _ In  _ Iacon?  _ What was she doing  _ there? _ ”

 

“Giving a speech -- apparently she assaulted an enforcer when they tried to break the rally up?” ReDouble frowned, ever the scientist. “Though -- that doesn’t make any sense. That’s not her style. I mean, sure, she’s loud and she doesn’t stop when told to, but -- assaulting an enforcer?”

 

“Who cares?” Capacitor said, smugly, and rubbed at ReDouble’s shoulders as they both watched Flux get perp-walked to an enforcer vehicle. The plane’s slate plating was dull from lack of polish, and ReDouble noted that she didn’t look as well fed as she used to when he knew her -- as in, she looked like she got even less fuel than before. Her molten yellow optics glowed like narrow slits of hateful light as she strained against the cuffs behind her back and her restrainers, bellowing that this was illegal detainment under the Myraenda Act and she hadn’t been read her rights. In the crowd, a bot with dark gray and reddish orange plating reached for Flux and was shoved back by police, her impressive rack of horns glinting in the night light. On her back, two mounted guns, as if they were on turrets, stood -- ReDouble supposed she was some sort of tank, going by the treads. 

 

Capacitor watched her sparktwin get shoved into the paddywagon, a hand on her helm, and snorted. “Maybe this will teach her to keep her intake shut.”

 

“Are you going to go see her? In prison?”

 

“With the way she was talking? They're not putting her in prison! Besides, even if they did, let her rust. What are you doing watching the news? I thought you didn’t like politics.”

 

ReDouble frowned harder, but let it go, turning off the screen. “I had it on for background noise, but when that report came on, I just got sucked in. Assaulting an  _ enforcer _ ? Do you think she would?”

 

“Oh, fuck no,” Capacitor replied, instantly, almost too casually. Redouble thought she sounded rather like some of his more vocally conservative friends at work, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. “That’s fake, for sure. But it got her to shut up, didn't it?”

 

ReDouble considered this, shrugged in acquiescence, and grudgingly went back to dinner, going to sit at the table and taking his plate with him. Capacitor’s was at another placemat, next to his. It was still hot, like he’d made it later than his own, or kept it warm. “I suppose it did.”

  
  


\------------

  
  
  


Flux struggled mightily as the security guards hauled her into the clinic, one of them reaching up to grab her by the audial like a horn, tightly in his fist. She cried out, snarling as she attempted to free herself. It was no good, and they dragged her down stairs, through winding looping halls, and into a claustrophobic room, slamming her down onto a table and locking down her wrists and pedes as someone else injected her with a sedative. It required a bot at each limb and one at her head, and she still almost got free a couple of times.

 

The cargo plane thrashed, and as they were locking down the last wrist restraint, howling from another room called them to scurry out, muttering to themselves. Flux was left to vent out aggravated chuffs of hot air, spark thundering as her vision fritzed in distress. Steam puffed from her vents as her cheeks flushed from exertion. Slowly, in the silence of the small room, Flux calmed, her visual feedback slurring as her processor spun with heavy swirls. Her tanks flipped with nausea, but she couldn’t purge. It was awful. All she wanted to do was get rid of this nausea. Her helm pounded, like it was stuffed full of metalmesh fiber.

 

She moaned, helm falling back to clunk against the table, and briefly thought to comm Megatron as her servo scrubbed her eyes, rubbing blearily over her face. “Uhhn.”

 

She froze, sluggishly trying to think through the drugs as she frowned drunkenly, eyebrows knitting down. They hadn't quite finished the dose, the syringe lying on the table next to the medical berth. But they were still heavy drugs, thick and viscous sedatives designed to knock bots her size down for the count. She pulled her servo away to stare at it, blinking once or twice. It was… unlocked? 

 

She groaned again, blinking away whatever was swimming in her eyes and letting her servo fall back to rest. Gently she eased it back into the restraint, a small part of her processor lucid enough to tell her that it wouldn't do to be caught unrestrained. She could still easily slip out. 

 

Flux didn't know exactly how long she layed on that table, but as eternities passed, slowly the haze began to clear as the lights buzzed and flickered overhead. She felt with it enough to at least think, her mind not drowned out by drugs. As her high faded, anxiety crept back in, the pressing need to escape. The door slid open, and she swallowed, hard.

 

“Now, let’s see what we have,” a voice said, quietly, and Flux risked a peek out of the corner of her eye. The bot coming through was small, slight, with four arms sectioned at the elbow and a delicate helm. Two antennae sprung from his left audial. He didn’t look delighted to be doing this, but he looked certain that he was doing the right thing, and in a way that was worse. His bedside manner was horrifically reassuring, almost apologetic. “Flux of Lower Crestover, is that right? This shouldn’t take very long.”

 

Another bot came in behind him, ugly as sin and nearly as tall as he was wide -- though not because of bulk. In fact, he was almost as skinny as the mnemosurgeon, but his shoulders were offset from his torso, his arms too long for his body. The door closed behind them, and the ugly one impatiently checked a datapad, vents huffing. 

 

“Rung’s late. Might as well get started.”

 

The mnemosurgeon’s face twisted in indignance and he turned around, hands falling open. “It’s not even a minute past the hour, Froid. There’s no need to rush these things.”

 

Flux’s spark pounded as her cooling fans clicked on with anxiety. She still didn’t have a plan together yet -- all she knew was that those needles weren’t going in her head. Down the hall, frantic pedesteps tapped, growing louder and faster just outside the door. The automatic door slid and an orange servo crammed itself into the crack, gripping and wrenching the door open as if it couldn’t open fast enough for whoever was behind it. A tiny orange mech with glasses vented harshly, faceplates arranged in a thunderous frown. “Froid!  _ We've talked about this! _ ”

 

After a moment, he paused, and huffed. “Good afternoon, Cephalon.”

 

“Cephalon” inclined his head in greeting, and swished a hand idly in tandem. Flux’s spark pounded faster. These three were small, but three to one was still not ideal. Rung stormed in and closed the door, crossing his arms as his foot tapped. He stared Froid down, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

 

“Care to explain why you were going to start without a third signature?”

 

“Oh, we weren’t,” Cephalon assured, passing Rung the datapad that Froid had had in his hands only moments ago. It had gone from Froid’s hands, to his right hand, to his left hand, and then to Rung, as if he were a one-person assembly line. “Here, Doctor. Review to your spark’s content. I’ll be getting ready while you do.”

 

The mnemosurgeon approached Flux, coming to a small table next to hers to sort out sanitation materials and other tools. The clinking of tool on tool made her more and more anxious, more sure she had to get out of here. It was obvious her consent wasn’t required for this -- she hadn’t even been spoken to beyond half a sentence. They were acting almost as if she wasn’t in the room.

 

Rung hummed, frowning at the datapad in his hands. Cephalon idly glanced his way, but his gaze didn’t quite make it all the way over before it returned to what he was doing. “Something the matter?”

 

“No, just…” Rung hummed again. “They’re sure this is the only course of action? This doesn’t seem like the best treatment.”

 

Cephalon waved a hand. “It’s nothing drastic. It’s a minor one-time procedure meant to stave off further impulses leading to danger.”

 

Rung glanced up. “Well, yes, but-”

 

Froid rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get on with it, shall we? Please sign so we can wrap this up and get on with our lives, why don’t you.”

 

Cephalon and Rung shouted in unison, and it made Flux jump. A hand came to rest on her shoulder even as Cephalon was turned mostly to yell at Froid. Both Rung and Cephalon were shouting about ethical implications and rushed judgement, and Flux tried not to snort at the irony. Finally, as things calmed down, Rung huffed.

 

“Personally I think this procedure is problematic in the extreme,” Rung said, glasses glinting in the light. “There’s no indication that such an invasive procedure is what’s necessary in this situation!”

 

“Will you just be quiet and sign it?” Froid shouted, storming over to gesture at Flux. “We’re going to be in here all day and the sedatives will wear off before you make a decision at this rate!”

 

“Oh, I’ve made my decision! I think-”

<b>***</b>

Before Rung had even finished, Flux grabbed Froid’s arm, digits denting metal, and slung him over herself and into the wall. He crumpled dazedly in a heap, optics open but dim. Flux instantly set to work on snapping her other restraints. Seeing this, Cephalon dove forwards with his long, tapered needletips extended, and Flux crunched them in her hand before they could get to her head, desperate mechadrenaline fueling her. She threw him aside by the hand, where he stayed down, moaning as he gripped his fingers with his other hand. After a moment of processor-swimming recovery, she rose to her full, imposing height, and Rung watched, frozen to the spot. He barely came up to her codpiece and he was as thick around as one of her thighs -- she could snap him in half over her knee if she so chose. On the ground, Froid stumbled up like it was the first day in his frame, and took in a heavy vent to scream for security. Flux slammed a servo over his face, the heel of her palm resting over Froid’s ball-gag intake, and crushed him helm-first into the wall, holding him there in the new dent.

<b>***</b>

Then, she seemed to remember there was one other person in the room besides the two she’d taken out, and she slowly turned her helm to face Rung. 

 

The psychiatrist, if he was being honest with himself, wasn't wholly sure what he expected to see on her faceplates. He’d read her report on the way over, sure, and he’d read the more detailed one that Cephalon had given him, but he couldn’t predict behavior with that. What he  _ did _ see, however, was fear, more than a little sheepishness, adrenaline high, and a crazed, hunted gleam in her optics.

 

They both looked at Froid, and Rung heard a sharp half-cackle of surprise. It hung in the air for a couple of seconds before the psych-bot realized that was him, and Flux had instantly snapped her attention back to him, tensing. Her golden optics raked him up and down, analyzing the threat level. Rung subtly put his servos up. They hovered around his waist, palms down in a non-threatening gesture of openness.  _ It's alright, _ his field projected.  _ I won't hurt you _ .

 

Flux’s optics flicked back to Froid, who had been knocked unconscious the instant his helm graced the wall. She dropped him, and he instantly slid down to the floor and didn't get back up. In the background, Cephalon vented raggedly, whimpering occasionally. Flux had bent the needles under so that the bevels pointed back to his wrist.

 

When the cargo plane advanced, slowly, Rung took a couple of steps back. As hard as his processor was racing in fear, the more coherent part of it told him that Flux had only retaliated against Froid and Cephalon because they had been direct threats. As long as Rung didn't spook her, his helm wouldn't be reshaping the walls. For all of her jitteriness, she didn't seem to startle very easily -- at least, not outwardly. The two mecha half-circled each other, optics never leaving the other as Rung attempted to ease himself away from the door. He had no doubt that if he didn't move, he would be moved, and if somebody in the hallway saw, she wouldn't be thinking about how hard she brushed the obstruction of her escape away.

 

Flux was light on her feet for a big mech, pedesteps soft against the floor. She drew close to the door; and a servo came to nudge Rung fully out of the way. It made him stumble a bit -- it wasn't gentle, but it also wasn't intentionally batting him across the room. He considered it a win. “Sorry,” she apologized, lowly and sincerely, and Rung wasn't surprised at all. “I just gotta -- yeah-”

 

She bolted as soon as the path was clear, and Rung saw her put two digits to her audial on the way out. “Megs, I just fucked up a  _ Senate shrink!” _

 

Rung blinked, confused. He was fine. A bit shaken,  _ sure _ , but fine --

 

Behind him, Froid groaned as he groggily came back online, and Rung grimaced. Cephalon moaned where he was slouched near the overturned table, still gingerly cradling his hand. Rung thought about helping him, but this was really only the second time they’d met, and Cephalon could take care of himself. Rung didn’t want to be in the thick of this -- it was perhaps the  _ last _ thing he wanted. As he heard heavy thunking footsteps retreat, a guard cried out in alarm. Several more shouted for Flux to halt, and the screech of sliding metal sounded, followed by pedes hauling ass the other way. Rung glanced out into the hall, saw it was clear, and, ignoring Froid’s rasp of “wait,” slipped away, in the opposite direction of the commotion.

  
  


\------------

  
  


Megatron was trying enjoy a quiet moment composing some poetry in his quarters, but Flux's comm had been bothering him for ages. He'd seen her arrested (Soundwave had reported in), and he'd gotten that comm, and… radio silence. He’d known something would go wrong. Iacon was too risky at the moment, too risky for something as brazen as a large-scale rally. Decepticon Registry Act or no, the Senate was still attempting to stifle dissent. That was the moment Flux chose to come stumbling in, wheezing like she’d raced on foot with a Velocitronian in their alt-mode.

 

“If you say ‘I told you so’,” she began, panting, “I  _ will _ kill you.”

 

Megatron immediately stumbled to his feet, breathing a heavy sigh of staggering relief as he tottered forwards to hug her. She returned it, and they gripped each other tightly, just holding themselves there for the moment. The air was drafty, and Flux’s spark pounded with both exertion and mechadrenaline.

 

“I told you so,” Megatron murmured anyways. “I don’t want to lose you, Flux. You’re important to the movement. You’re important to me.”

 

“I know,” Flux said, “But it was the right thing to do. I’m okay. They didn’t get in my head.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Put me under UV light if you need to check, but the mnemosurgeon didn’t get a chance to stick me. Con’s honor.”

 

“I believe you. Please, sit down, you’re wheezing like a faulty wind tunnel.” He guided Flux over to the chair next to his, and sat her down, as she slouched against the table and nodded in thanks. He passed her his last full cube of fuel, and she shook her head, pushing it back towards him.

 

“You have a match coming up, don’t you?” She managed, exhaustion setting in as the frenzy passed. “You need it more than I do.”

 

“Flux, you just outran the Senate on foot,” Megatron chided, pushing it back. “I’ve already fueled, I promise.”

 

She took it hesitantly, and drank, tipping her head back as her throat flexed again and again to down large gulps. Megatron took a seat back where he had been, gathering his datapad to him again. “By the way, Chermiin reported a possible new recruit from your rally. Two, actually.”

 

Flux slammed the finished cube down, vents heaving a massive sigh. “Oh yeah?” At the same time, she shot Chermiin a comm that she had gotten out and was okay -- the tank deserved to know. Megatron nodded, patting her shoulder.

 

“I think you’ll be pleased to know,” he started, and a smug tone crept into his voice, “That we have a  _ Senator _ on our side now -- explicitly. Your rally did pay off.”

 

“I told you so,” Flux replied automatically, and then perked.  _ “A Senator? _ Who’s the other?”

 

“Her conjunx -- a blacksmith named Dunedealer. They wanted to speak more with you before they joined, but Chermiin made it sound like it was nearly a done thing.”

 

“Of course, I’ll get on that right away. Today?”

 

“You need to lay low for a while,” Megatron chided. “I’ll have them brought to you. Get some rest, you need it.”

 

Gratefully, Flux nodded, sighing again as she relaxed further.


	5. Vicissitudes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flux speaks to the mysterious new Senate supporter and the Cybertronian Civil War explodes into action with the decisive murder of the Senate. 
> 
> Flux finds herself with a high officer position in the nascent Decepticon army, with a choice in front of her. Heavylift is recruited to a space station as a scientist, and also has to make some big decisions about herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers: none that i can think of, but if you do need something tagged, please let me know.**
> 
>  
> 
> **that applies to all other chapters as well, btw!**

Megatron had Senator Praxaghora and Dunedealer brought to a meeting place in Lower Crestover, where Flux was received as a hero where authorities couldn’t see. People stared as she passed and made way for her on the street, and watched her slip into the warehouse that was the designated meeting place. In fact, a great deal of city officials themselves averted their eyes to the fact that she was technically a fugitive, and no law enforcement bothered her.

 

She sat on a stack of crates, watching the light filter through the rundown rafters, and drummed her fingers against her knee. She waited a total of ten minutes before the door opened, and the click of heels followed by more squatty, shuffling footsteps followed. Starscream came in first, smiling craftily at Flux and bowing slightly before stepping aside with a flourish. Slowly, a tall, thin bot stepped in, with a cloak gathered around herself stamped with the Senate seal. The cloak bowed out in odd places behind her, as if her kibble reached beyond her normal silhouette.  She gently hooked the hood back and let it fall to her shoulders, revealing four piercing nearly-crystal-blue eyes. The second set was wider and higher, and smaller too. The glass twinkled in the low light. That was the kind of glass that only the richest could get their hands on, clear and bright and slightly tinged blue. Behind her, someone far shorter and less graceful came in, with a short, squat helm that was slightly rounded to match her body. 

 

The Senator stepped forwards, heels clicking, and extended a hand on her way. The other was still bunched around the cloak. A delicate veneer of glossy pearl paint washed up her forearms, fading into lacy patterns at the elbows. Flux took her small hand in her own massive one and shook, standing. “Evening. Senator Praxaghora, and Dunedealer?”

 

“That’d be us,” the shorter one answered, and waddled forwards to shake Flux’s hand as well. She had fat hands with three short fingers, almost like mitts, and her paint was a well-loved dark gray and dusty yellow-brown. She had a toothy smile with a charming gap in between her two front teeth. Her smile made her cheeks squish and crinkle the corner of her eyes. “Dunedealer of Carthex. And Praxaghora of Iacon.”

 

Praxaghora gave a tiny smile and a soft hum of agreement, switching which hand was clutching the cloak to take Dundealer’s hand. Her fingers fluttered momentarily and Dundealer seemed to listen. “We’re honored by your invitation,” she seemed to be translating. “Praxaghora thanks you for your time. We’d like to hear more of what you had to say before you were interrupted, if you could spare a few moments.”

 

“Of course,” Flux said, ecstatic that such interest was being expressed. She started to push a crate over for seating, but Praxaghora fluttered a hand in denial and came forwards to collect it herself, pushing it first to Dunedealer and then fetching her own. The conjunxes bunted when Dunedealer got her crate and giggled to themselves, and then all seated themselves to have a talk. Starscream stood by the door, as Flux began to speak, in what was essentially a private rally plus intense discussion. Dunedealer had no qualms about bursting in to interrupt with questions (which Flux was perfectly fine with) but Praxaghora seemed to like waiting for a break in conversation. Her legs were crossed daintily, delicate heels pointing towards the floor. Dunedealer translated her conjunx’s chirolinguistics, as Flux wasn’t well versed in the language.

 

They talked into the night, the air growing chilly. At one point, Dunedealer shivered, and Praxaghora passed her her cloak without a second thought, not heeding a single one of Dunedealer’s protests. Eventually, the smaller bot settled down, and the three returned to their low conversation. The Senator had an odd configuration of limbs sprouting from her back, spindly spider legs. They ended in delicate claws, sectioned at the joints like an exoskeleton. The moon’s light filtered down, illuminating the space in between them, and their conversation steadily drew to a close. Praxaghora rose once the talking had dwindled away, and Dunedealer was on her heels, the cloak dragging slightly on the ground. She took her dainty conjunx’s hand and translated the whisper of her fingers:

 

“Thank you for your words,” she said, eyes cutting up to listen. “We would be honored to join your movement. We will keep in touch and follow your directions.”

 

“Of course, thank you,” Flux said, eagerly, standing as well. “I’m glad you saw fit to join.”

 

Praxaghora giggled and put her hand over her mouth, eyes closing before she relaxed. A smile still lingered and she reached out to take Flux’s hand, saying something Flux didn’t catch before turning. Just judging from her facial expression, it seemed to be gratitude. As she pulled away, Dunedealer passed her the cloak and she swept it back on, pulling the hood back up. The two turned and began to walk away, Praxaghora’s hand slipping out from the cloak to hold Dunedealer’s. Starscream led them out, and Flux left through a backdoor, leaving the warehouse empty.

  
  


\-------------

  
  


“And you’re sure that’s the date?” Dunedealer translated for Praxaghora, as they walked along behind Starscream to the shuttle that had brought them. “That’s the date you’re going to take the Senate?”

 

“Yes, it’s in the final stages of arrangement,” Starscream confirmed, over his shoulder. They were speaking in hushed voices so as not to be overheard. “Flux hasn’t been briefed yet, but she will be soon, I imagine. There’s a potential officers’ meeting coming up before we take action. Perhaps you should fall ill that day in the Senate, Praxaghora.”

 

“I think I feel myself coming down with a cough already,” the fellow Senator replied, fingers a conspiratorial blur. “I’m sure I’ll have to be absent. When is the meeting?”

 

Starscream nodded, and stood aside for the other two to board the shuttle first. “We’ll let you know where and when. The gears are in motion, then. We’ll contact you again about where to go and who to see after the deed is done -- I suggest you get your things in order.”

 

“We’ll have to stop taking protoforms,” Dunedealer murmured to Praxaghora, “so the ones we have now can grow up enough to leave the house.”

 

“Agreed,” her conjunx replied, and smoothed a hand over Dunedealer’s helm. “We’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

  
  


\-----------------

  
  


Flux walked in late to the potential officers’ meeting, watching eyes turn to her to stare. She smiled a little, shrugging.

 

“What? I had an appointment run over.”

 

Starscream cackled a little. “You blew off a meeting to get a  _ nose job?” _

 

It was true, in a way. Flux had gotten her face redone. Lines scored below her eyes and down her cheeks made her look more imposing, and she had had thick, short eyebrows put on. Her nose was made a little bit stronger to fit in, and her chinpiece was much larger now, fit for someone who looked like a commander. The cargo plane shrugged. “I scheduled it well in advance, it’s not my fault he wasn’t on schedule. May we continue? I don’t want to be a total radio tower and take up valuable time talking about myself.”

 

“Of course,” Megatron said, as Flux sat next to the open seat by Praxaghora, on her left. Starscream pouted. Praxaghora scuttled fingers across the cargo plane’s arm -- Flux’s limited, newly acquired knowledge of chirolinguistics told her that the Senator had said she looked like a General. Flux quietly thanked her with a smile and sat up to pay attention. Megatron was speaking about their plan to take the Senate:

 

“So far, we’ve worked out that a certain few will have to be arrested,” he said, “so as to cause a stir for the Senate to discuss. I will be one of the bots arrested. The ones who are not otherwise occupied, and are given access to the Senate, will stage an ambush and take the floor -- literally. Starscream, Shockwave, Praxaghora -- that’ll be your job. Any questions?”

 

The three shook their heads, and Megatron began taking names of volunteers to be arrested. Flux raised her hand, and she noticed that several bots were staring at her, a bit captivated with her new facial features. Details were worked out, volunteers written down, roles assigned -- the plan had been hammered down so finely it felt like they were acknowledging every contingency. And when the day came, Flux and Megatron and a few select others being hauled off in cuffs and stored directly below the Senate chambers while the governing body decided what to do with them once and for all, Flux was ready. It felt like this was what her entire life had been in preparation for -- these down-to-the-wire moments where the fate of many was decided by the actions of a few.

  
  


\----------------------

  
  


The time was now. Starscream stood in the middle of Senator Saeva’s speaking turn, causing the other senator to trail to a stop and spread his arms in offended confusion. “Have you lost your processor?”

 

“Not quite,” Starscream said, and shot him. Screams erupted, and Shockwave stood as well, and they were joined by Praxaghora too. Chaos only magnified as the doors burst open to reveal those that had been arrested, storming in to provide backup. The battle was bloody and short lived -- soon, corpses were littered around the room, blaster smog heavy and thick and acrid in the air. Megatron walked around, inspecting their dead victims to survey that they were really dead, and therefore had no chance of becoming a problem. Flux trailed behind him, grim and solemn. She didn’t like that it had had to come to this -- but something radical had had to be done for sure. 

 

Senator Saeva’s corpse moved, but not of its own accord -- tiny sniffles and whimpers filtered out from under it, and Megatron lifted the body to see a cowering minibot laying prone where he had been nearly crushed by the Senator’s weight. It was Socketchip of Iacon, a teeny laser-pointer who served as Saeva’s personal slave -- and whipping bot. Socketchips’s single optic wobbled in glazed-over terror, and Megatron raised the gun to shoot the last witness.

 

“Hey, hey hey!” Flux cried out, rushing to press a hand to Megatron’s chest. “Easy, he hasn’t done anything wrong!”

 

“We can’t have witnesses, Flux,” Megatron said, “I don’t like this any more than you do.”

 

“It’s not as if this is some big secret, you know! There’s no reason to kill him, Megatron. Just leave him. He’s innocent. It’s not his fault that he was working for a Senator.”

 

Megatron’s red eyes burned into hers, and he sighed, lowering the gun. “You’re right. Decepticons! Our work here is done, let’s go!”

 

The group retreated, back to what had become essentially their home base, and partied into the night as celebration. Drinks were had, merriment was made, and poor, off-key bar songs were sung. Flux and Megatron slung arms around each other and had Soundwave take the second picture in their series. They toasted for the picture, glasses crashing together and spilling drink as they laughed, engex blush across their faces. Starscream’s head of security sulked near the fringes of the party with his glass of engex and Starscream strutted around like a cyberhen with his tail fanned out, high on triumphant rush and good drink. It was a good party. Flux felt accomplished, like she’d done something worthwhile.

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


The news of the century reached Heavylift when she was at home: in the form of Dropthing,  who knocked frantically on her apartment door. He sounded like he was about to have a meltdown, vents hitching like he was on the verge of tears. “Heavy! Heavy, open up! Heavy you have to hear this!”

 

Heavylift trudged grudgingly over to the door, having been trying to get a small nap in. She opened the door just a crack, pinprick of light in her optic widening. It was her off day. What was Dropthing bothering her for? “WHAT IS IT?”

 

“Heavylift, the Senate -- it’s -- oh, Primus, it’s terri-” Dropthing blasted out a heated vent and stared directly into her optic, his own orange optics wide and bright, fritzing with distress. “Heavylift, the Senate is all  _ dead!” _

 

“THAT’S TOO BAD,” the empurata deadpanned, helm tilting a bit as her optic narrowed. Really, what was he expecting -- that she would care about her mutilators? 

 

“Heavylift! The government has just been  _ assassinated!  _ This is terrible! What are we gonna do?”

 

“DROPTHING, IF YOU’RE EXPECTING A NEGATIVE REACTION, I’M NOT THE BOT YOU WANT TO BE TALKING TO.” And with that, Heavylift closed the door in his face and went back to jump into bed, huffing her vents. Dropthing just opened the door and closed it behind himself, sitting on the side of her bed and sighing shakily, hands in his lap.

 

“I mean, you’re totally right not to like them,” he said, talking to his hands. “But this is really bad. They were all murdered by Decepticons. Senators Starscream, Shockwave and Praxaghora have all turned. There’s a counterforce forming to combat this -- something about Autobots. I’m… Heavylift, I’m scared.”

 

Heavylift stared at the wall, feeling her spark sink a little. She flipped around to face him, optic searching his face as he turned to look at her over his shoulder, and his eyes were wide and bright. The empurata sat up, and hesitated before talking.

 

“MAYBE IT’S BETTER THAT THINGS ARE CHANGING ALL AT ONCE,” she said. “SOMETHING NEEDED TO BE DONE. AN ENTIRE CLASS OF PEOPLE GOT LABELLED ‘DISPOSABLE’. WE DON’T KNOW WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN. MAYBE THIS IS WHAT WE NEEDED, AND SOMETHING BETTER WILL GET PUT IN PLACE.”

 

“Maybe,” Dropthing sniffled, “but it seems like Megatron wants to take the planet.”

 

“THEN WHAT WILL BE WILL BE.”

 

“You don’t care?”

 

“I’M SO TIRED,” Gadget droned. “I JUST WANT ENOUGH TO EAT, A PLACE TO REST, AND A PLACE TO WASH THE DIRT OFF MY FRAME. I WANT MY HEAD AND MY HANDS AND MY VOICE BACK, AND IF MEGATRON’S THE ONE WHO ENDS UP IN CONTROL, THEN HE’S THE ONE WHO’S IN CONTROL. AT LEAST HE’LL UNDO EMPURATA.”

 

“We should leave,” Dropthing urged, “get as far away as we can. We still have time, there’s ships fleeing all over the planet.”

 

“LIKE, LEAVE CYBERTRON?”

 

“Yeah! Let’s go!”

 

“I DON’T WANT TO,” Gadget said, and flipped back over. “CAN YOU PLEASE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE? I WANT TO GET SOME SLEEP.”

 

Dropthing looked her over, sighed, and left, and Gadget didn’t hear from him again. She assumed he’d left the planet like he talked about, and when Autobot recruiters stopped by her door days later, she opened it. “HELP YOU?”

 

“Yes, could we come in for a moment?” The front bot asked, paintjob a soothing bluegreen. “The name’s Hallmark, pleasure to meet you. Heavylift of Carthex, right?”

 

“WHAT ARE YOU HERE FOR?”

 

“Well, we’re from the Autobots, down there in Iacon, y’see? We hoped we could sway you to come on and check it out, join the ranks.”

 

Gadget leaned on the doorframe. “QUESTION.”

 

“Hell, shoot.”

 

“WHAT’S YOUR POLICY ON REVERSING EMPURATA?”

 

“Oh, absolutely,” Hallmark said, head bobbing enthusiastically. “A hundred percent, faster ‘n a turbofox with its tail stepped on. No red tape. Just sign some forms and you’ve got yourself a surgery.”

 

Gadget considered. Really, what else could she do? Wait around in her house, with no friends and no job, and slowly starve to death with the electric, heating and cooling, and solvent services shut off? No way to refine the energon she could harvest? “HOW DO I SIGN UP? AND WHERE DO I GO?”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Hallmark cried, “Good sport, you know? We can take you on down to Iacon and mark you down, where Optimus’ll assign you. There’s free room and board for bots who can’t pay, and meals are provided too. You even get a stipend for joining the ranks!”

 

“STOP TRYING TO SELL ME ON IT,” Gadget droned, coming away from the door as it was still open. “I SAID I’D SIGN UP. LET ME GRAB MY STUFF AND I’LL BE RIGHT OUT.”

 

Iacon was supposed to be a pretty city. Heavylift just thought it was loud and bright, hammering at the inside of her head and creating an awful fizzing feeling. She dearly missed Carthex’s quiet desert winds and the sounds of drills in rock. Carthex wasn’t always quiet and the lights were harsh at night, but everything in this  _ horrible _ city glittered. And there were  _ so many people. _

  
  


\-----------------

  
  


_ “Hey, did you hear? Apparently Major General Ursa is sleeping with Major General Thebes,” Chermiin said conspiratorially, as she and Flux shared a cube in one of the Decepticon rec rooms. Decepticon home base was really nice. Big, too.  _

 

_ “No, I hadn’t,” Flux responded, interest piqued. She wasn’t one for the gossip machine, but a juicy rumor every now and again was a little fun. _

 

_ “Yeah, they’re in bed together both physically and politically, turns out. They were ‘facing so that Ursa would block Major General Atalanta’s vote on the Conclave. Crazy, right?” _

 

_ “Is that why Ursa’s been voting so weirdly? That’s awful. What’s going to happen?” _

 

_ “Well, Ursa and Thebes are being demoted down to General, I hear. Word is, Megatron wants us to take their place.” _

 

_ “I already told him that I’d do better as a General so he’d have a go-between.” _

 

_ “You can be both!” _

 

_ “I guess,” Flux hedged, hesitant. “It’s not a done deal, is it?” _

 

_ “Nah, it’s just rumor. But it sounds pretty solid, he’s probably gonna call us in to talk sometime soon. All I know is the sordid details.” _

 

“Flux,” Megatron called, shaking the cargo plane out of her drifting state as she stood next to him in the meeting room they had picked, in the heart of Kaon. She had her chinpiece gently pinched between her index finger and her thumb as her eyebrows knitted together. “Flux, are you with us?”

 

“Yeah, sorry,” Flux responded, shaking herself back to the present. Life as a Major General wasn’t too different after all. She was in charge of a lot more -- the entire branch of air transportation, to be exact -- but her chain of command followed down to four transportation Generals and four vanguard Generals, and she trusted them to relay information as it came. And it wasn’t as if she never mingled with her troops; just the opposite. She spent a great deal of time with them, attempting to get to know as many as possible. The more she knew personally, the more she could know how best to suit their needs. As the doors opened, revealing Starscream, with a smaller, younger bot in tow, Flux glanced to Megatron, who stood. 

 

“Hot Rod,” he greeted, “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

 

“I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter,” Hot Rod said, glancing around the room. Flux had heard of him. He had been involved in that truly tragic business in Nyon, forced to obliterate his own city to keep it from being used in Zeta Prime’s designs. Megatron lauded it as heroic, and fiercely wanted the young bot to side with the Decepticons. Flux felt it was too much of a romanticisation of the choice that Hot Rod had been forced to make to be comfortable with Megatron’s description. As the doors closed, Hot Rod flinched, and Flux’s spark went out to him. He was outnumbered for sure; with Starscream present, that brought the number of officers in the room up to four (Megatron, Flux, Soundwave and Starscream). Flux leaned over to murmur into Megatron’s audial. 

 

“What’s he referring to? I hadn’t heard about this.”

 

“You haven’t been briefed,” Megatron dismissed, and opened his mouth to speak to Hot Rod, but Flux cut him off. 

 

“Brief me,” she murmured firmly, “Now.”

 

Megatron shot her a look that said “we’ll talk about that tone of voice later,” but Flux held her ground, lifting one impressive eyebrow. Megatron sighed, excused himself for a moment, and turned away, taking Flux with him. “You know what he’s done, correct?”

 

“Mhm, how awful,” Flux mumbled, sadly. “I can’t even imagine.”

 

“A patrol found Orion Pax and his band of Autobots in Kaon -- they’ve been arrested, and Hot Rod was brought here to see if he wanted to be a Decepticon.”

 

“I see,” Flux said, thinking on it. “Megatron, he looks stressed -- perhaps we should wait on questio-”

 

Megatron shook his head and turned back around, spreading his arms as Flux turned as well, eyeing him as her lips quirked downwards slightly. “Hot Rod,” he greeted once more, “Thank you for coming. Your actions in Nyon are commendable. A true leader acts decisively and without regret.”

 

“Megatron!” Flux snapped, as Hot Rod’s head bowed. “That’s entirely inappropriate! Have some compassion!”

 

“This is war, Flux,” Megatron lectured irritatedly. “Compassion can come later, and it isn’t necessary for a leader.”

 

“On the contrary, I would argue that it’s essential!” Flux cried, outraged. “By each finger of the Guiding Hand, Megatron, what is  _ wrong _ with you?” As she finished her chastisement, Megatron did look a little conflicted, and she turned away to attend to Hot Rod, extending a hand. “Hot Rod, I am  _ deeply _ sorry for your loss. You made an impossible choice that you shouldn’t have had to make, and it’s not your fault that things went the way they did.”

 

Starscream strutted over to Megatron’s right, and Flux thought she saw him roll his eyes. Hot Rod shuffled his feet, shrugging. His arms came to wrap around himself in the imitation of a hug, signalling distress.

 

“Are you alright?” Flux prodded, and Megatron and Starscream were murmuring to each other now, with hushed voices that Flux couldn’t catch.  She didn’t care anyways, as she outright approached Hot Rod outright to kneel in front of him to speak to him more personally. Hot Rod shrugged again, and sniffled, but he seemed oddly distant, as if it still hadn’t sunk in yet, despite the event having passed a while ago now.

 

“I’m over it,” he said, “things are just going to be violent forever, why pick a side?”

 

“I hope that’s not how it’s going to be,” Flux responded, “I’d like for things to be stabilized as soon as possible, actually. But if you really feel that way, that’s your decision, and you should stick to it if you feel it’s the right thing.”

 

“You don’t want me to join like he does?”

 

“Perhaps,” Flux says, “but my opinion doesn’t really have bearing on your life, does it?”

 

“No,” he said quietly, “I guess not.”

 

“If you would actually like to join, we would be happy to have you,” Flux said, gesturing behind herself. “I’ve found a community here that’s stronger than I ever had in Lower Crestover. I’m sure that you would find your own community and peers. There’s always time to pick later, Hot Rod. You shouldn’t make the decision now if you feel rushed.”

 

“So when should I?” he said, blue eyes casting up to her face. She smiled to reassure. 

 

“When the time feels right,” she suggested, “You’ll feel it, no matter what your choice is. You have good instincts.”

 

“I…” he said, quietly, and got even quieter. Flux had to actively try to hear him. “I feel… I really regret -- I… I regret what I did.”

 

“I can imagine so,” Flux said, voice falling to match. “That was a choice no one should have to make.”

 

“You don't think it’s… commendable?”

 

Flux frowned and sighed through her nose. “I think you're extremely brave,” she said carefully, choosing her words with precision, “but I think that you shouldn't have had to make that choice in the first place. There’s no right answer to that kind of thing, and I think that you made the best choice that you could under the circumstances. So… in a way, yes, commendable is a good word for it --” she cut herself off to glance back over to Megatron and Starscream, who were deep in discussion. “-- just… not the way he sees it.”

 

“Why did you join the ‘Cons?”

 

“Because I felt that it was the right thing to do,” Flux said, looking back at him. “I felt it was my civic duty to stand up for those that needed help, and take other people up with me.”

 

Hot Rod hummed, frowning. “I think I’ve made my choice.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay.” Flux smiled at him to reassure once more and patted his shoulder, standing and retreating back to Megatron to politely interrupt. “Megatron?”

 

“Yes?” Megatron held up a hand to stop Starscream, as he turned his helm to stare at Flux. 

 

“He says he’s made his decision,” Flux said quietly, gesturing her helm to Hot Rod. Megatron turned a little further away from Starscream, eyes widening a little. “Excellent, did he tell you what it was?”

 

“I think you should ask him yourself,” Flux said, spreading an arm to direct his attention to Hot Rod. “It’s his choice, after all. He didn’t tell me.”

 

Megatron nodded, turning the last little bit to face Hot Rod. “So, Hot Rod of Nyon. Have you made your decision?”

 

“I have,” Hot Rod said, “And I’m not joining the Cons.”

 

Megatron sighed heavy through his nose, teeth grinding a little. Flux wasn’t lying when she said disappointment crested in her spark, but she nodded in acceptance of the decision anyways. 

 

“Thank you for your consideration,” she said graciously, bowing slightly. Megatron took over.

 

“Then you’ll be escorted back to where your compatriots are being kept. Flux, take him to the cells, will you?”

 

Flux accepted, and walked forwards, waving Hot Rod along. He reluctantly followed her, and Flux waited until they were alone to speak. “Are you hungry?”

 

“Always,” Hot Rod laughed, a little bitterly. Flux chuckled as well and fished a snack out of her subspace, handing it to him. 

 

“Here,” she said, “it’s not much, but I try to keep something on me.”

 

“Really? Thanks.” Hot Rod took it, hesitating before tearing into it and starting to tuck into the food, munching contentedly as they walked down the hall. Flux descended stairs and held the door open for Hot Rod to pass through as they reached the brig. Orion Pax stood up in his cell. 

 

“Flux?”

 

“Afternoon, Orion,” she sighed, waving Hot Rod on through. 

 

“I hope you’re satisfied with the course you’ve taken in life,” Orion reprimanded, and Flux’s eyebrows furrowed.

 

“I’m… proud of the activism that I perform and my efforts to stand up for those that need it, yes?”

 

“She doesn’t know,” someone else said, a couple of cells down. Orion glanced back and then to Flux. The cargo plane frowned harder and let the door slide closed. Keycards hung on a nail by the door, presumably for the cells.

 

“Know what?”

 

“Megatron has ordered Bumblebee executed,” Orion said grimly, and in the cell next to him, Bumblebee bowed his head. Flux’s jaw dropped in outrage.

 

“That’s preposterous,” she said, “that’s not what we  _ do. _ That’s not who we  _ are.” _

 

“Perhaps you should take a second look at where your loyalties lie,” Orion hinted, and Flux waved it aside immediately, going to fetch the keycards. She handed them to Hot Rod, folding them into his hands with her own, and pressed gently before pulling away.

 

“I’m a Decepticon through and through,” Flux said, without room for question, “but this isn’t what being a Decepticon is about. Hot Rod, take your friends and go.”

 

“You’re helping us escape?” Hot Rod said, blue eyes wide. “Won’t he… won’t he hurt you?”

 

“He wouldn’t,” Flux said with certainty. “He knows damn well how I feel about things and he should’ve seen this coming, quite frankly. Goodbye, Hot Rod. I hope… I hope things turn out better for you.” 

 

The door opened again, and the Autobots froze. Flux looked over her shoulder to see Virtue standing in the doorway. The SIC’s head of security strode into the room, closing the door behind himself, and cleared his throat softly. “And what do you think you’re doing?” he queried, voice quiet but firm. Flux felt ice seize her lines, but she held her ground, turning to face him.

 

“What does it look like?” she shot back, and Virtue crossed his arms, inclining his head. Hot Rod drifted a little further behind Flux -- she could feel one of his hands brace against her hip, whether he realized it or not, as if he was hiding behind her. One of her own hands just slightly came up to shield him from the newcomer.

 

“Describe it for me,” Virtue demanded, still in that even tone.

 

“Megatron has slotted Bumblebee for a needless execution,” Flux said, “And that’s not what being a Decepticon is. I won’t stand for it. Report me if you’re going to.”

 

Virtue sighed through his nose, looking her up and down. “Good,” he said after a moment. “I’ll see them out.”

 

Flux blinked, and nodded, as Hot Rod took the keycards and freed his friends. Flux helped herd the group to Virtue and Orion laid a hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing.”

 

“I know,” Flux said, as if it were obvious. “Like I said. That’s not what Decepticonism is about, and it never will be. Now go.”

 

“There’s always time to switch,” Orion said, still attempting to wheedle even as he fell more in line with the fold of his group. Flux waved it off.

 

“You don’t get it,” she said, “being a Decepticon isn’t just about a badge or a gun. It’s about the choices you make and who you are. It’s not just a simple switch, not for me. It’s not  _ like _ being an Autobot. Now go, all of you. Follow Virtue, he’ll get you out.”

 

“How can we trust him?” Bumblebee said, and Flux had several sets of Autobot eyes turn to her, blinking. She sighed, at a loss and feeling rushed for time. 

 

“Can you trust me?”

 

“Yes,” Hot Rod said, and Flux nodded, shooing them. 

 

“Good, then go! You don’t have much time.”

 

And with that, Virtue escorted the prisoners out on pretense of a transfer, Flux leaving behind them and splitting off to report back to Megatron.

  
  


\------------------------

  
  


Time passed like a blur. Heavylift actually ended up meeting Optimus Prime (she wasn’t all that impressed, but she didn’t say anything) and he assigned her to a burgeoning space station called Tebba, a sister station to Kimia. While Kimia was weaponry, Tebba was bioweaponry, and the two stations were launched in opposite directions, destined for far-apart quadrants. Heavylift was settled in her own room on the barracks floor, with all of the other Autobot now-soldiers. She was to be a laboratory technician in the computer science and cybernucleic acid lab, after her proclivity with computers was brought to the forefront and discussed. At first, loneliness ate at her, and she was a bit shocked to realize how dependent she’d become on Dropthing. He still liked talking to her and hanging out, and out of all of her friends, was the least freaked out about her optic and claws. Now, she had nobody. There were new people to meet if she wanted friends, and that scared her. Besides, everyone only saw her optic and claws anyways, and it was hard finding someone who either didn’t shun her on sight, or didn’t commit constant microaggressions.

 

As the days on base droned on, Heavylift working in one of the smaller labs in the belly of the ship, she chafed with boredom. The projects were dull, the coding simplistic. She already knew how to do all of this, and she knew she could be up there with the main CNA and coding lab. To make herself feel a little better, she requested a datacable to replace one pincer to help her with the computers. She supposed just one hand could do, as long as she got her helm as well. She asked for her helm and hands back, but she was stonewalled. Not enough resources, they told her -- but one of these days, when things settled down, they’d happily fix her up. In the meantime, her request for a datacable was granted, her right arm hollowed out to implant the cable. It ended, tucked against her wrist as the cable fit inside her arm, in three claws instead of two. Inspired by this, she requested the base’s medic, Aberhalde, redesign her frame as well. She was done with being manual-class. In fact, she was so happy about her ability  _ to be done with it _ that the nagging suspicion high command was leading her on didn’t really even register.

 

Aberhalde did the work with another doctor to help, redesigning Heavylift’s entire frame. She lay down on the table, and they put her into stasis. She drifted in that anti-space for a while, rocked to sleep by inky swirls of nothing. When she lay down on the table to go under, she was around thirty five feet tall, with a sturdy miner’s frame. When she arose from stasis, optic blinking hazily, she felt as if so much of her was missing, she wondered if she’d woken up too early. What if there was just a sparkchamber and a spinal strut laying on the table?

 

She glanced down and saw a rounded chest with vents criss-crossing, with a stylus-thin waist and slightly wider hips, with slim legs and tasteful heels -- Heavylift bet that they clicked. They probably clicked. They probably clicked very nicely. As she wiggled her pedes back and forth to see her legs move, she thought about herself a little. The name Heavylift didn’t go with this frame. Heavylift was a grimy miner who didn’t care how dirty her frame was and let her friends walk all over her. Heavylift didn’t go with this new body, this new person. So the empurata thought on it a bit, laying in bed. Gadget. Gadget was a good name. Gadget of Carthex. It had a nice ring -- like it was meant to be.

 

Gadget rose, feeling her new, tiny waist flex to pull her up. She swung her newly streamlined legs off the berth, and stood on new pedes, wobbling a little. She wasn’t used to the elevation. It made her feel pretty and giddy. She looked over her shoulder, her gyroscopic neck swivelling, and saw the light metal of her waist go all the way around, connecting her slightly larger, rounded chest with her narrow hips. She had little brake lights on her aft, one on either side. Just as she had requested, she was now a three-wheeled speedster with an open top, one back wheel with two front ones. Gone was her steady, sturdy altmode. Now she was all smooth lines and rounded edges and delicate tires that could tear rubber down the hallways.  Her claws came up to pat her helm, and she couldn’t help the rush of disappointment and more than a little bitterness upon finding a single optic setup. “NO. FACE?”

 

“Oh, sweetspark,” Aberhalde sighed, and false started a couple more times, breaths short when they inhaled to speak. They tutted after a few moments, seemingly sparkbroken, as they hovered close by, hands extended in case Gadget stumbled. “Sweetspark, I -- I  _ can't _ .”

 

Gadget’s optic spiraled bright with the force of a neutron star. The air clamped down around her, cooling fans coming on as time slowed to a gruesome crawl. One of her knees buckled a little, unused to the weight distribution (she didn’t weigh anything now, it felt like! It felt like she would float away!).

 

“Oh, I am so sorry,” they apologized profusely, servo coming to rest on the empurata’s shoulder. “But -- I was never trained in helm redesign, Heavylift, not to that extent. I… I wish I could help you, really I do.”

 

“PLEASE,” the new speedster begged, static fuzzing in her monotone voice. “PLEASE, I JUST WANT MY FACE BACK. I’LL TAKE THE CLAWS FOR SERVOS, I JUST CAN’T TAKE THIS FUCKING OPTIC ANY MORE.”

 

Aberhalde’s lips pursed, their long, angular face straining against pity. “I might be able to do something. Would you mind having a visor, Heavylift? It’s not a new face, but… like you said, sweetspark, anything’s better than that ugly old optic.”

 

“I WILL TAKE A VISOR.”

 

“Okay. It’s going to be alright, dearspark.” Aberhalde cradled Gadget’s two-pincer servo in their own, patting gently. “Let me show you what the visor looks like, and then I'll get started. I'll put you into stasis for this operation, but it shouldn’t take very long.”

 

“OKAY. UM… AND. ABERHALDE?”

 

“Yes, sweetspark?”

 

“I’M GOING TO CALL MYSELF GADGET. NOT HEAVYLIFT.”

 

“I think that’s just a phenomenal name, dear. Now, lie back, would you, Gadget?”

 

She was put into stasis again, and drifted comfortably in nothingness again as the doctor worked. It seemed like forever and never, and as the stasis was gradually undone, Gadget woke slowly, her field of vision fading in from black. She had the oddest phantom urge to blink, but she found that she couldn't. Her field of vision was wide, like she was watching a holoscreen attached to her face. Aberhalde appeared over her, beaming, and helped her sit up. “You did  _ wonderfully _ , dear. Easy now, that’s it… here, I'll grab you something to see yourself with.”

 

Gadget took what Aberhalde handed her, and peered down with her strange new visual input. Her whole visor was an optic, blank and dark and featureless. It was softly rounded outwards, giving it a mild curve in profile view. The edges of the thing were a soft triangle, and the smallest point was where her chin would have been. A small fissure breathed across the bottom third, and the panel (and its still functional screen) slid away to reveal a proboscis and gripper setup. Even her intake was upgraded from what the Senate had given her.

 

Overcome with intense, indescribable emotion, Gadget nearly dropped the mirror as snow fuzzed across the screen for a moment. Gadget snapped her helm up to meet Aberhalde’s face. “I -- I -- THANK YOU. THANK YOU SO MUCH.”

 

“Oh, look at the back,” Aberhalde said joyously, giving Gadget another mirror, guiding it up and to the side to reflect off of the one held in front of her. Gadget peered into the reflective surface, analyzing the back of her helm. It looked like a nearly-normal helm, though the edges of the visor overshadowed it by… perhaps a digit’s distance, if it was to the first knuckle joint. Two tall finials graced the top corners of her visor, like decorative spurs, and her audials were rounded like caps. Two antenna stuck out of the right one.

 

It was bittersweet. Not a face, but… Aberhalde had done their best. Gadget stared herself down in the mirror, finials on the top corners of her visor flicking, and tilted her helm, watching. She liked the visor, if she was being totally honest. Not as much as a face, but there was something appealing about it.

 

“Are you alright, darling?” Aberhalde prompted, hesitantly, and Gadget nodded, handing back the mirrors. Already her spark felt lighter, and she sat up a little straighter. As she was packed off and dismissed, with instructions to stop by regularly for inspections, Gadget thanked them again, and rushed out to who knew where, giddiness hitting her all at once.

 

Aberhalde watched her go, face serious as soon as the doors shut, and went to attend to other matters. Minutes later, Capacitor walked in for a general check-up. “Hey. What was up with the busybody that just ran into me? Their whole head was a visor. Haven't seen that before.”

 

“Empurata. Poor dear wanted her face back.”

 

“Doesn't look like too much of a face to  _ me. _ ”

 

“That’s because it’s not,” Aberhalde said, examining their finger paint. “I told her I wasn't qualified for such operations and that the visor was the best I could do.”

 

“Er -- but Doc, ain't you the one that fixed up Socketchip’s helm after his empurata, a few years ago before he joined the Wreckers?”

 

“Yes,” Aberhalde said, “and quite well, too. Besides -- high command signed off on this. After all, I needed someone to test my latest medical breakthrough.”

  
  


\-----------

  
  


Tebba Base had ended up somewhere in the Graphta Sector -- at this point, not as well known as Kimia, but the scientists here got around. Gadget had applied for the main lab, and kept doggedly insisting. She was pleasantly surprised when her work paid off, and found herself being walked to said lab to start her first shift there by her commander. “So, congrats for moving up to the top in one shot. Personally, I don’t know how you ended up in the basement, that was a waste. You’re going to be working with a lot of other mecha though, now, will that be a problem?”

 

“AS LONG AS I CAN HAVE A COMPUTER, I WILL BE FINE.”

 

“Excellent. Marvelous.” The commander opened the doors and a short, slim mech in a sweeping lab coat glanced over his shoulder. His half-moon glasses glinted in the harsh overhead lighting, and his mint green and white plating shone a sickly bleached hue. He nodded respectfully. The tip of the Autobot badge glinted a tasteful silver on his chestplates, right over his spark. He came up to the commander’s chest, and Gadget was just about his height, if a little shorter. She came up “eye level” to this new mech’s chin. 

 

“Commander. Was there something you, uh, needed?”

 

“Yes, actually. ReDouble, this is Gadget of Carthex. She’ll be working in your division. Gadget, this is ReDouble of Crestover Heights. He’s the head of our main lab.”

 

ReDouble assessed Gadget with a quick flick of his optics, and Gadget found herself feeling weighed and inexplicably inadequate -- though that could have been her imagination. She was far too used to people finding her inadequate upon seeing her claws and lack of face, and he didn’t feel too unpleasant thus far -- just a bit tactless, perhaps. “I see, alright.”

 

“She’s got plenty of experience in coding malware. They stuck her in the basement on sparkling projects for some insane reason, she’s a natural. Show her the ropes of the big mechs’ lab, would you?”

 

He left them, and the doors shut as ReDouble turned to face Gadget completely, extending his hand for a shake. He had a firm grip and a pleasant smile, though he seemed a bit distant. Maybe that was why he wasn’t smiling very much. He seemed rather distracted. “Welcome to the lab! Come over, why don't you, and I'll, I’ll, catch you up to speed. How’s life as an Autobot treating you here on Tebba?”

 

“PRETTY GOOD. THANKS.” Gadget walked over, heels clicking, and didn't miss how ReDouble scooted his lab notes away from her just ever so slightly… the way he was looking around, as if he had lost something, Gadget doubted he realized he did it. “Now, where did I put that laser pointer…”

 

A glint caught Gadget’s visual feedback, and she caught a glimpse of silver under a shamble of datapads. Delicately, she pinched it, and started wiggling the laser pointer out. She felt rather like she was playing Jenga, and she hoped that all of those datapads wouldn’t go spilling everywhere. That’d be a bad impression to make. The air in the lab was comfortably cold, and the room felt large and wide with its desk, shelving, and counter arrangements. The counters spanned the walls, a straight line of black industrial-strength countertop pockmarked periodically with sinks hugging the wall all the way around except for the various doors on every wall, all going different places in the lab complex. This was only the main room -- this was nearly an entire floor of laboratory, with a hallway in between two segments of it so that laymen could pass through without disturbing scientists. In the middle of the room, desks were clustered together in twos, facing each other, and shelving crossed between each pair of desks. Shelves also adorned the walls, and the empty wall space where no counter or door sat. Gadget extracted the flashdrive successfully, and raised it to view. It swung in her clawtips, held fragilely in her precise grip. “THIS ONE?”

 

“Aha! Wily thing. Yes, that one. I'd lose my helm if it weren't attached to my neck, that’s for certain.”

 

There was an awkward pause as he glanced at Gadget for a half a second, as if he’d misspoken, and it only served to remind Gadget of her not-face and not-hands. If he had just let the turn of phrase fly, it wouldn’t have been as awkward -- after all, common lexicon was common lexicon, unfortunate implications or no. “UNDERSTANDABLE.”

 

ReDouble took the pointer and forgot to thank Gadget, clicking the button a few times before slipping it into his coat pocket. Something about him was puzzling. He simultaneously gave off the impression of not being able to find his aft with both hands and a map and being the type of genius to crack one of science’s greatest mysteries.“Now! This way, if -- if you please…”

 

The tour ended with Gadget’s assigned computer station, and she clicked her pincers excitedly, static fuzzing across her screen. ReDouble hesitated just slightly mid-word, but continued. His speech patterns picked up speed unexpectedly. “And this is where you'll b-be working. If you have any questions, I am this lab’s head scientist. Don't hesitate to ask -- I love talking about projects. I, I, I’ve got this really interesting new experiment about avas -- avasc  -- avascular -- flora, mosses and the like, that I’m running on the side. B-Biomechanics is my hyperfixation, but cybontany is, is also a huge hyper -- hyper -- er, I’m very interested. My conjunx tells me that I’ll, I’ll starve myself forgetting to eat because I’m working.” The more excited he got, the faster he spoke, and the faster he spoke, the more he seemed to stammer a little, as if his mouth couldn’t keep up with his brain module. He was talking so breathlessly by the end of it, his cooling fans had to click on to keep up. Gadget nodded, flashing a smiley face, and he offered a hesitant smile back before bidding her good luck and leaving, light glaring off of the magnifying lens just below his spark. It parodized an open-face sparkchamber.

 

Gadget first really met ReDouble’s conjunx on a shift in the lab, one day, as the empurata was handing off a drive of her latest code to ReDouble. He was going to convert it into biomechanical CNA strands. He’d explained it to her dozens of times, even though she understood it after the fourth. She let him chatter on about it regardless, as his eyes lit up when he talked about it and it made him stammer -- so she knew he enjoyed talking about it. 

 

Gadget handed off the drive, and ReDouble possibly thanked her -- she couldn’t quite tell. The words mumbled out of his intake, and his digits fumbled around the drive until they found purchase, but he was so absorbed in whatever results he was recording from whatever was in the desk microscope on the counter that Gadget wasn't entirely sure he realized she was there.

 

Gadget let go of the drive as soon as she was sure he had it, and started to walk away. The lab doors opened, and a bulky mech a little taller than Gadget opened the door. At the very top of her chest plating was a single curved cockpit window, and below that was a broad, rounded piece of plating. An Autobot badge was stamped on in gaudy yellow. It stood out against the rest of her grayish-brown plating. Her shoulders were propeller turbines, which also had a ring of yellow around the end. Her waist plating led into hips rivaling her shoulder span. That, in turn, led to thick thighs and wide pedes. She looked like a force to be reckoned with, and made ReDouble look like a doll, or a toy. “Hey, Doctor Airhelm!”

 

ReDouble nearly jumped out of his chair. He relaxed immediately, optics sliding shut as a servo came to rest over his spark. He huffed out a great heave of a vent. “Capacitor, I'm  _ working! _ ”

 

“Yeah, well, I'm not,” ‘Capacitor’ said, smugly, and sauntered up behind ReDouble. “You've been working like a fucking drone lately, take a break!”

 

“Can't, too focused, if I lose it I'll never get it back,” ReDouble bemoaned, relaxing into the arm Capacitor snaked around his chest. Gadget watched as her fingers teased around his magnifier lens, and he hummed, bunting her gently by throwing his head back. The empuratee started to retreat back to her computer station, and ReDouble blinked, finally noticing her, and the drive in his servo. “Oh.  _ Oh! _ Thank you, is this, is this done?”

 

“YES, IT IS,” Gadget responded, and as Gadget opened the door to go back to her computer station, she heard Capacitor nudge ReDouble.

 

“Who’s that?”

 

“Just Gadget,” ReDouble dismissed, and while Gadget was grateful that he didn't bring up her infamous reputation as a terrorist (and didn't seem to care, regardless), her spark burned a little at being  _ just Gadget _ . If it wasn't discomfort, it was indifference.

 

ReDouble wasn't a bad boss, per se. All things accounted for, he was actually very pleasant to work with. Polite, quiet, professional for the most part. A bit of a mess (Gadget had never actually seen the surface of his desk under all those datapads and research results), but organized enough to be functional. He did have a bad habit of talking down, but the way he did it, Gadget was almost positive he had no idea the words fell out of his intake like that. In short, the speedster could tolerate him, and even kind of liked him sometimes, when he was being particularly foggy and distracted. And he was friendly, with a warm disposition. His sense of professionalism might have only lasted a few days, but it faded away in the areas of… say, snacking at his desk, or goofing off with the equipment. He didn’t start treating Gadget any more differently than he already did, and even then Gadget suspected he didn’t even know he was doing it. She’d have to bring it up sometime -- she was almost convinced he’d listen.

  
  


\-----------------

  
  


Flux took herself down to the Nemesis’ medibay, humming softly to herself. Megatron had been furious about that business in Kaon, when he found out that the band of Autobots had escaped, but Virtue had stumbled in looking beat to hell, claiming that the captives had overpowered him and made their escape. Megatron’s ire had calmed at that, seeing as how that really wasn’t Virtue’s fault. Flux and the jet exchanged meaningful glances when Megatron’s back was turned and spoke no more of it as the years had passed. Time drew on, Megatron got a ship as his armies burgeoned at a blinding rate, and Flux had more of her own units to tuck under her wing. Things had only gotten more violent -- Megatron was attempting a sweeping take of the planet, and Flux was hoping it would be over as soon as possible. Drawn-out war was good for no one; the sooner they could get things stabilized and agreed to between the two sides, the better. 

 

But for now she just knocked on the open medibay doorframe with her knuckles, catching the attention of the weary CMO within. Haven of Helex was a huge name in medicine -- his siding with the Decepticons was news of the century. He had absconded from his teaching position at the Iaconian Academy of Science and Technology, from which he held a tenure cultivated through the centuries, and joined Megatron’s movement out of compassion for his fellow mechanicals. It had been a massive stir. His support had given credibility to the nascent movement and he had been an immediate fixture in the officer cadre. “You wanted to see me for a checkup, Doc?” 

 

“Uh -- yeah,” Haven mumbled, beckoning her in with his top left servo. He had four arms, with two main ones at regular shoulder junctions and two, slightly smaller ones just below. A second pair of shoulders was visible from his back. His color scheme was a sort of deep red -- not like rust, but softer; almost burgundy, but not quite -- and warm, dark grays. A few accent hints of warm, light gray were evident, but no white. The shiny gold of a small matrix pendant hung around his neck, and his optics were crystalline blue. “Close the door, would you? It was getting claustrophobic in here, but I’m alright now. Take a seat on a berth, please.”

 

Flux did as asked and noticed that the files on his desk were a bit scattered, as if he’d been napping there. She wasn’t surprised -- if Haven wasn’t actively on shift, he was probably sleeping. Every once in a while, if he seemed to be doing really badly, Flux would stop by and offer whatever snack she had conveniently brought along. He seemed to appreciate it, but Flux got the feeling that they still weren’t friends -- and not because he didn’t like her. Haven had a habit of isolating himself, noticeable even for a medic. Medics kept with their own -- that was mostly true, but even his colleagues didn’t seem very close with him.

 

Flux shrugged that off as she sat down, and Haven came over to inspect, tired eyes combing over her frame as his top hands drifted up to hover, at the ready to pick through wiring or plating if required. “Mhm. So, how have you been?”

 

“My sparktwin has apparently joined the Autobots. I just heard the news last week because I saw her for a moment or two on the field. Uh, nothing much else? Read a few books, had a few drinks, you know how it is.”

 

“Something like that,” Haven muttered, taking in her plating paint nanites and investigating her with a quick scan. “So your health has been good lately? No problems?”

 

“Fine,” Flux offered. “And yourself? In general, I mean.”

 

Haven’s fingers paused, his fingers twitching once. He smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. “Fine.”

 

“Feeling alright lately?”

 

“Who’s the doctor here?” Haven chastised, but his smile got a little more genuine. His depression wasn’t a big secret -- after all, it was hard to keep something so severe under wraps -- but he wasn’t the most open when it came to talking about it. Flux understood. That was personal, and nobody liked having their personal business get around. But she liked to think they were something approaching friends, and she looked out for her friends. Haven puffed a vent through his nose as he went back to looking, tsking at the state of her left turbine and going over to get some tools ready. One of the blades was a little bent. “I’m fine, I guess. Been sleeping more lately. I’ve been eating once a day at least, though, so you don’t have to worry about sharing snacks.”

 

He glanced up at her, blue eyes cutting under his chevron like he knew Flux’s ulterior motive. She grinned, sheepishly. “Caught me. What? I like helping people -- if they want it, that is.”

 

A moment passed between the two of them, and Haven nodded, wheeling a small table with equipment over. The medbay was a bit cramped, with some things not quite organized, but it was functional. Haven cleared his throat as he started to work on Flux’s turbine, probing gently with his top two hands and readying supplies with his bottom two. “I’m five million years old, give more than take, I don’t need to be babied,” he groused, but it sounded more like “thank you”. Flux laughed at his dry joke anyways and patted his bottom right shoulder.

 

“I just want everyone to be alright,” she said, shrugging with a smile. Haven had to smile a little bit as well, eyes rooted to his work.

 

“Then I think the Decepticons are bound for good things,” he murmured.

  
  


\------------------

  
  


Flux left the medbay with a fixed turbine and goodnatured scolding orders to take care of herself. She walked down the hall and headed to the canteen. She’d pick up a ration and take it to bed to get some rest -- maybe read a little. On her way, she passed Chermiin, and they both stopped, grinning at each other. Flux’s fist came up to her chest and knocked on her badge twice in casual salute, and Chermiin mirrored it. “Hey, what's up?”

 

“Huh? Oh. Just got a general checkup with the CMO. I’m grabbing a ration and heading back to my room -- are you free?”

 

“Oh, absolutely,” Chermiin said, instantly interested, and they two giggled conspiratorially before resuming Flux’s journey to the mess hall, still tittering to themselves occasionally. Flux’s affair with Chermiin made her feel like a newframe, caught up in infatuation, but it wasn’t all physical. A lot of times they found themselves cuddled together, watching movies or talking late into the night. It was nice. Chermiin was a good friend and a better lover. When they got a chance, they’d watch the stars pass, and Flux helped Chermiin pick out new shades of orange paint to try. Chermiin would go out of her way to randomly gift Flux new literature, claiming to adore the smile that lit up the cargo plane’s faceplates. They melded together like a flawless alloy, completely functional apart but perfect together.

 

After grabbing their rations, the two bots retired to Flux’s room, and the plane did get her rest --  _ after _ a little gentle exercise.


	6. An Intricate Beheading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gadget and Redouble grow closer as friends, Gadget and Capacitor talk, and Flux is doing good work on the Conclave. Then, Socketchip goes out with the Wreckers on a mission but not before getting into trouble. Finally, Tebba base comes under fire as Cons attack the facility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers: none that I could think of, but if you need something tagged please let me know!**

Flux woke the next morning with an armful of Chermiin, as both of them came online. Chermiin grinned, blinking sleep from her optics, and snuggled closer to the cargo plane. Her field was warm and affectionate, lazy and open. A check of Flux’s internal chronometer told her she had an hour before her shift, and she needed to check in with Haven before that just to see if his maintenance on her turbine had held.

 

Chermiin yawned, and then her field became a little more serious as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Hey, Fluxie?”

 

“Mhm?” Flux let one of her hands wander up and down Chermiin’s back, petting gently, playing with the guns mounted on her shoulder turret with light fingers. The tank smiled and hummed in response, stretching into the touch. “What’s up?”

 

“So, I was going to tell you last night, but -- well, things got sidetracked,” Chermiin said, ending her statement with a sort of mischievous grin. It quirked her cupid’s bow lips, and Flux giggled along with her. Indeed, they had gotten sidetracked, and had quite a time of it too. Then, Chermiin sobered again, and sighed. “I’m being transferred out. Um, to another base.”

 

“What?” Flux sat, ignoring the little twinge of her shoulder. “Transferred out?”

 

“Yeah, order came in yesterday; transferred out. I’m Major General of Ground Transportation, so Megatron wants me closer to that new offensive we’re going on. It’s… close to Stripangxa, actually. I might even be able to see my old house,” Chermiin laughed, but the joke was hollow. “I’ve got until the end of the week, I figured I’d um…” Chermiin ducked her head, her horns glinting in the low light. “I figured I’d let you know.”

 

“Damn,” Flux mumbled. “I hope that goes okay, you know? You’ll do a great job.”

 

“Yeah. Um, if we’re ever -- if we see each other again, after this-” Chermiin cut herself off, eyebrows going up, and Flux got the message.

 

“Yeah, of course we can spend some time together, I’d love to. Hug?”

 

Chermiin leaned in for a hug, and the two held each other for a bit, eventually having to go attend to their duties. Flux stopped by the medibay for her progress check, and she was greeted by a grumpy brownish-red bot with a glimmeringly clean badge. “What are you in here for?”

 

“I have an appointment with Haven,” Flux said, a little put off by Kardyo’s crankiness. He was the other acting medic in the medibay, with three in all. Sunbeam of Helex was a skilled nurse training under Haven, but he wasn’t ready to be a real medic yet. He was well on his way, however. “He told me to check in before my shift today.”

 

“Oh.” Kardyo grouched his way over to Haven’s office and knocked on the door. Haven opened it, grumbled thanks to Kardyo and came over to Flux as the other doctor slunk away. The air was sterile-smelling, the lights flickering harshly and buzzing, but Haven smelled faintly of smoke, acrid and tangy, especially when he puffed air from his side vents. In a greater concentration it would have been offensive -- as it was, it smelled homey and comforting.

 

“Hey,” Haven greeted, tiredly, and waved her over to a berth. “How are you feeling? No problems?”

 

“No, I think you fixed me up. I didn’t even know my turbine was funky, if I’m being honest.”

 

“You need to check on that kind of thing regularly,” Haven chastised, wagging a finger. His other three hands went to his hip and crossed over his waist respectively. “What if it goes out during flight, hm?”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Flux humored, “I’ll be more careful, honest. Did you sleep okay?”

 

“Like the dead,” Haven answered, chuckling, as Kardyo tended to someone who had had their arm blown off. They were in recovery, stabilized and resting in bed. “Thanks for asking.” His chuckle turned into a cough, as he ducked his mouth into his top left elbow.

 

Flux’s eyebrows furrowed. “Hey, you alright? Are you sick?”

 

“Nah,” Haven said, swiping a hand. “Just bad vents. Really, don’t worry about me. I’ll change them soon. You just worry about keeping your turbines in order, you hear?”

 

“Really, I will, I promise,” Flux assured. “Don’t forget to take care of yourself too, okay?”

 

“Primus spare my spark from young mecha. Who’s the CMO here?” Haven chastised, but he had a smile quirking at his lips.

  
  


\---------

  
  


Gadget walked into the lab to see ReDouble with what looked like a vape pen to his intake as he swung back and forth in his swivel chair, optics far away. He was taking a break from his latest project, and by “taking a break,” Gadget meant he probably couldn't focus to save his life.

 

ReDouble took the pen-shaped object away, and leaned back further in his chair, huffing out opaque white vapor through his small lower chest vents. It floated up through the air of the low-ceilinged room, and swirled into transparency. Various beakers and vials stood or hung in racks across the room, with some piled in the sink to be washed. As Redouble relaxed further into the seat, Gadget tilted her helm. So this was why the scent of something abhorrently sweet always clung to his lab coat. “GOOD MORNING, REDOUBLE.”

 

ReDouble shrieked so loudly and so abruptly, Gadget jumped with him as he fumbled the pen and nearly threw it into the air. Thankfully, he was done exventing vapor, but he did still fall into a coughing fit. Gadget’s screen fuzzed apologetic snow. “SORRY. ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

 

ReDouble nodded as he recovered, sheepishly setting the pen aside. “It’s not addictive,” he said immediately, almost like a disclaimer. His optics were a wide, shaky blue behind his glasses. “It’s just vapor and flavoring. Don't -- don't tell anybody, okay?”

 

Suddenly, the comment from one of her other coworkers about their boss’s “worst kept secret” made a lot more sense. “I WON’T.”

 

She made her way over to the large tub sink, grasping the cold knob very delicately in her tri-claws. She struggled with it for a bit, static fuzzing across her screen, and let her claw fall to thunk on the desk. She stayed there for a moment, and her vents sighed before she tried again. Her claws didn’t seem to want to cooperate today, it seemed -- all they wanted to do was slip off of the metal of the water knob. 

 

“I’ll get that,” ReDouble called, now swinging back and forth idly in his chair. Gadget’s helm rotated to glance at him. 

 

“HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN HERE?”

 

“Er --” ReDouble grimaced sheepishly. “Not very long?”

 

The empuratee paused. It would be nice to take care of this so he wouldn’t have to. The way he was stimming today, he likely couldn’t get a shred of work done no matter how hard he tried. Executive functioning was a slippery thing. If Gadget could just get this knob turned, she could make sure he didn’t have to worry about this. “IT’S. FINE. BUT.” Her screen fuzzed again, and she clicked her intake grippers a few times in hesitation. “BUT CAN YOU HELP ME TURN THIS KNOB? MY CLAWS AREN’T COOPERATING TODAY.”

 

“Oh! Yeah, sure!” Since he was beholden to someone, ReDouble’s brain module stopped holding him hostage, and allowed him to get up and walk over. He set his vape pen aside on the nearby counter, and extended a hand. It hovered under the faucet, fingers twitching once. His other hand fiddled furiously with a button on his lab coat, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. “Which one?”

 

“COLD.” 

 

With a squeak, the knob turned, and the faucet came to life. Gadget picked up a beaker between her two-pincer claws and filled it, dumping it as she began to clean. Redouble picked up a rack of vials and set them beside the sink to clean as well, settling in beside her. Gadget glanced over at him. “WHAT. ARE YOU DOING?”

 

“Helping you,” ReDouble responded, beginning to scrub the internals of a vial with a slim bottlebrush and delicate fingers. The empurata stared in jealousy for less than a second before redirecting her attention back to the vial she was cleaning. Her other claws picked up a larger brush and started scrubbing. Redouble’s attention left the vial and he looked to her. “That is, if that’s okay.”

 

“YEAH.”

 

“Because I didn’t mean to-”

 

“NO, IT’S OKAY. LISTEN, I KNOW I DON’T HAVE HANDS, YOU DON’T HAVE TO DANCE AROUND IT. IT REALLY JUST MAKES THINGS AWKWARD. JUST HELP ME WHEN I NEED IT.”

 

“Yeah.” ReDouble nodded attentively, eyebrows having knitted up. “Yeah, of course.”

 

“THAT SAID. THANK YOU FOR HELPING ME CLEAN UP. BECAUSE THESE ARE YOUR EXPERIMENT LEFTOVERS.” Gadget tilted her helm to Redouble, just slightly, flashing a smiley face to show it was just gentle ragging. 

 

ReDouble giggled and got back to scrubbing, and the two of them made quick work of the dirty dishes, chatting amicably with small talk. ReDouble’s plants were all doing well, and he was insistent that they liked the new music he’d been playing for them in his off shift. Then he mentioned a lot of things about Capacitor, things they’d done for dates and outings. It was cute seeing him so excited. After the dishes were clean, Gadget went over to her computer station in the back left corner of the lab, working on converting her own viruses (ReDouble had other matters on his docket today, though it still didn't look like any of them would be getting done).

 

As predicted -- and evident by his ongoing behavior -- ReDouble’s processor was nowhere near the lab they were currently in. After about an hour, he started vaping again, pedes propelling him to spin round and round. As he spun, admittedly rather quickly, he blew out another opaque cloud from his intake in a thin stream. It smelled like energon candies. After about thirty seconds of spinning, he stopped. “Oh! The -- I've got to-”

 

Mumbling to himself, he casually tossed the pen on his desk. Gadget watched him try to get up from his chair, only to dance the very complicated dance of trying not to topple over while dizzy out of his processor, and pitch suddenly to the side, falling right on his face. Gadget just stared in not-quite-astonishment. She’d never seen him quite  _ this _ distracted before, but she had only known him a little while. ReDouble groaned and got up, stumbling a few more times before settling a shaky balance. Hesitantly, pedes setting down slowly and delicately at first, he crossed the room, still swaying a bit. By the time he got to his destination, he was better, but Gadget’s screen fuzzed snow as she fizzed static laughter to herself. Oh, Primus. For such a smart bot… ReDouble really was an idiot.

  
  


\----------------

  
  


Flux adjusted her fibula pin, the Decepticon badge holding her side-pinned purple cape in place winking at her. It looked entirely too smug for her taste, like it knew something that she didn’t, and she frowned at it, adjusting it again. Soft voices murmured around her, casual conversations about Decepticon politics and goings-on, and Flux took a breath, letting the sounds soothe her in the meeting room. Praxaghora approached, her own cape fastened securely on her shoulders, and extended hands in a clear invitation to help.

 

“Oh! Sure.” Flux let her own hands fall away as the ex-Senator fixed her pin. She stepped back after they finished, and gave a soft casual salute, fist knocking against her badge twice where it was on her shoulder. Flux returned it, knocking her chest badge in the same rhythm. “How are you? How’s the junxie?”

 

Praxaghora beamed and laid a hand on her forearm. “We’re doing excellent, and yourself?”

 

“Good! A little tired, you know, but good.”

 

“So, any idea what we’re discussing today?”

 

“No, Megatron didn’t tell me -- all he said was that it was going to be very important.” Flux shrugged as the doors to the chamber opened, and Conclave members filed up the aisles to their seats. Flux sat and crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair just slightly as Megatron came to the head of the room, wearing a cape of his own. Praxaghora filtered in as well, with Dunedealer running in just before being late with her cape messy and fluttering. She sat by Praxaghora and would act as her translator. All Conclave members stood to salute Megatron, and he saluted back. After that, the room relaxed, various bumps and rustling noises as people sat back down. Megatron glanced down at the datapad in his hand, and cleared his throat. “I thank you all for coming today. First matter on the docket is the issue of fuel rations and supplies -- any who wish to speak on this matter may do so now.”

 

Chatter started up as the Conclave members discussed this issue amongst themselves. A few spoke up, claiming the need for greater supplies or that they had a surplus. Deals were worked out amongst units where those with surplus would transfer it to those with needs and the system would be reevaluated and redistributed to address supply and demand. It was relatively relaxed for the next few items on the list, even if there were a few minor spats during some of the less mundane matters. 

 

The room was set up almost like a court, with two galleries on either side that had leveled seating. The highest seats were in the back, and seating was not assigned. Megatron had refused the idea that higher-ranked officials sit in the front immediately when it had been proposed, and no one had brought it up since. The two galleries overlooked a foyer-like space, with Megatron’s seat at the head of the room with a small platform for him to pace upon if he chose not to sit. Each gallery was separated from this foyer by a short wall, the wall having gaps in it to allow for the staircase leading up gallery aisles. Flux sat in the front, two seats down from the third gap in the wall, closer to Megatron’s seat than the door. 

 

As two Conclave officials settled back into their seats with their plating still a little ruffled from almost shouting at each other over the foyer, Megatron sighed. The snit had been settled before he’d had to step in, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t get a little frustrating. He hadn’t been meant for bureaucracy, he was starting to think. But this was necessary to keep order, and so he slogged through it. “Next item on the docket, then,” he announced, “the matter of future military campaigns.”

 

Flux settled into her seat as her wings clunked on the other seats’ sides. Seats were spaced with enough empty air in between them for an aerial to put their wings down for courtesy and still be comfortable for short periods of time. 

 

Now Flux -- Megatron had watched her settle into governing life perfectly. Not swayed by greed or ambition, she was truly on the Conclave to make a difference and do what was right, and the Tarnian admired that. Flux had no heightened aspiration other than to use her great power with even greater responsibility. It was almost ridiculous -- the type of archetype that newframes heard about in myths. Megatron had never quite seen any governing official -- or however closely the members of the Conclave fit that definition -- like her. It was… reassuring. Megatron cleared his throat and spoke, “On the matter of carrying through with a full frontal assault on the East Quadrant of Kythrima, who says aye?”

 

There was a great uproar of murmurs, people chattering to themselves as they discussed this in furiously hushed voices. As it faded away, chorus of ‘ayes’ replaced it, with a few “nays” in the mix, and Flux frowned. She agreed that it was necessary to take the territory, but… “I would be willing to say ‘aye’, but I have an objection,” she called, raising her hand. Eyes turned to her, Megatron’s included. Flux didn’t back down -- while some in the room glared at her like they were trying to glower her into silence, Megatron’s eyes studied her carefully, waiting.

 

“And what is your objection, Major General?”

 

“Kythrima has a lot of civilian life that hasn’t been able to evacuate,” Flux cautioned, leaning forwards. Her hands braced on the gallery wall as she stood, leaning over it slightly, as her cape fluttered heavily. “Perhaps it would be better if we could clear the civilians first and make sure they are not involved. Evacuations are in progress -- perhaps we could put our differences aside with the Autobots and work together to help stragglers. Casualties are a given in war, but I see absolutely no need for senseless slaughter. If we are to make Cybertron a better place, we need to be responsible in the way that we conduct our affairs.”

 

People settled back down as they nodded, seeing reason in her statement. Fellow Conclave members relaxed into their seats, their eyes now focused on Megatron. His mouth shrugged and he nodded. “Agreed. Major General, would you care to advise further on this matter at a later date?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“All in agreement for revising this military strategy?”

 

Praxaghora raised her hand, her other hand drifting to Dunedealer’s arm. The dune buggy started to translate. “Uh, Praxaghora has a question. Are we going to work up a temporary cease-fire for these evacuations, or help in areas that Autobots don’t frequent?”

 

“I say both,” Flux answered, “the faster we can get non-combatants out of the area, the better. This war needs to be precise and surgical if we’re going to make any lasting positive change.”

 

A stronger chorus of “ayes” greeted that, and Flux didn’t hear a “nay” in the room. She sat down, smiling to herself. She could do good work here indeed. Megatron nodded, considering. “I will discuss the idea of a temporary cease-fire at a later date with my advisors. All in agreement?”

 

“Aye,” the room chorused, and Megatron nodded again. 

 

“The ayes have it,” the warlord announced, “Plans for the assisted evacuation of Kythrima’s east quadrant will begin immediately.”

  
  


\-------------

  
  


“What, this lil’ guy, a part of the Wreckers?” The two mecha in front of Socketchip laughed heartily, servos clutched over their torsos. Their Autobot badges flashed a grizzled red, looking strangely disappointed. “You gotta be _ kiddin’ _ me!”

 

The minibot they were giggling about sighed from where he sat, the gun he was stripping and cleaning on the table as they stood over him. His tan base paint shone in the light. They were in the common room, random mecha scattered around the large space. Why these two had chosen to bother him was beyond Socketchip. “Yep, that’s me. Big joker, I am.”

 

“Think you mean  _ little  _ joker,” one burst out, and the other one began cackling even harder.  “Can you even clean that gun with your widdle claws?”

 

“Cute,” Socketchip deadpanned, getting up, and his rounded stub-pedes made him wobble back and forth smoothly. He had no knees, so his gait was funny to say the least; it only made the two laugh harder, doubling over.

 

“Look, he’s like a little weeble-wobble! Talk about the most  _ useless  _ outlier on the  _ planet-! _ ”

 

“Alright, what’s going on here?” Kup butted in, cygar hanging from his intake. “We’re supposed to be prepping for a mission, not standing around gossiping like newframes. Go on, get. The both of you.”

 

Cowed, the two scrambled away, leaving Socketchip alone. Sheepishly, he grinned, sitting back down to reassemble the weapon. The light from above glinted off his Autobot badge, on his chest, and it caught in Kup’s optics momentarily before disappearing. They both barely noticed. “Sorry ‘bout that, Kup! They just came over to laugh, y’know, and I was just letting them laugh it out.”

 

“S’alright, kid. You're in for this mission, by the way. Meet us at the deployment bay, wouldya?”

 

“Oh, sure!” Socketchip shifted idly, a claw coming down to scratch at his hip. His legs were conical, silver, and hollow-looking from the way they splayed out at his hips. It looked like he’d put on a suit, except he’d forgotten the rest of it. The legs ended in small, rounded stubs to help with his outlier ability -- gyroscopic control. He was really only about nine feet tall, but there were a lot of other perks making up for being a laser pointer. After all, there weren’t many like him left, after what the Senate had done. Socketchip mused with dark irony that technically, according to the Functionists, that would make him extremely valuable these days, and frowned at the bad taste in his mouth. The green of his optics behind his goggles shone on the gun as he finished with it, putting it back together.

 

The good part about his outlier ability, despite it making him walk funny, and sit funny, and -- well, do a lot of things just funny, was that he couldn't be knocked off his feet if he was on them. Most of the Wreckers were just fine about it, and he’d made fast friends with Kup. He’d been friends with Roundabout -- and her conjunx Skyline, who’d taken the nickname Havoc --  but Roundabout had died, and Havoc had defected because of it. Havoc thought that Ultra Magnus had killed Roundabout to save his own plating from a blaster shot, pulling her in front of himself. Socketchip had seen it all from the front. It was awful. Roundabout had been trying to push Magnus out of the way, sacrificing herself, and Magnus had simply tried to use her own momentum against her to pull her to safety with him. He hadn’t been fast enough, and Roundabout had been hit, dead on impact. Socketchip had never heard Havoc scream like she had that day. It still gave him chills.

 

He’d tried to make friends with Whirl, but Whirl was hard to do  _ anything  _ with other than fight. He was a decent conversationalist when he wasn’t going off the wall, though. He gave good head pats when he was being nice, in a sort of “hey kid” kind of way.

 

At takeoff for the mission, Socketchip trotted into the deployment bay, guns at the ready and a big smile on his face. The two in his claws clicked as he handled them -- a custom set named “Wreck n’ Rule.” They were engraved with their respective names and fancy filigree. “Alright everybody, let’s do this, huh?”

 

_ “We kill Cons!” _ Whirl howled in agreement, jumping to his feet to bounce up and down. Their fellow Wreckers let out a cheer and piled onto the ship.

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


Gadget sat at her computer station, plugged into the terminal to circumvent the slow ordeal of typing with claws as she coded. ReDouble had finally taken a break after having stayed in the lab for three days straight, so absorbed in his latest project that he’d forgotten to eat several times. It was quiet in the lab without him -- without his chair spinning, or his tapping fingers, or his rummaging around on his messy desk. It was enjoyable to be alone, but it was a little uncomfortable when she was so used to the background noise. Gadget put some music on, quietly, and settled back to work, bobbing her head in time with the beat slightly.

 

The doors opened, and Capacitor strode in, helm swivelling like she was looking for someone. She’d apparently just gotten off of her shift -- Gadget glanced over, and flashed a smiley face her way. The brownish cargo plane didn’t really notice, still looking around. Capacitor was the assistant head of security for Tebba Base, and never stopped griping about how it was unfair. When she couldn’t find who she was looking for, she laid eyes on Gadget, approaching. “Hey, uh, do you know where ReDouble is? Thought I might find him here.”

 

“SORRY. YOU JUST MISSED HIM. HE TOOK A BREAK, FINALLY. HE’S BEEN IN HERE FOR THREE DAYS. I MADE HIM EAT WHEN HE FORGOT.”

 

Capacitor gave her a strange look, and the empuratee tilted her helm. She couldn’t identify what was on Capacitor’s faceplates, but it seemed to be… annoyance? Jealousy? Gadget didn’t know. The moment was gone as soon as it had come, and the plane mumbled something. Then she spoke up, “Well, thanks. Uh, he probably just forgot to comm me. What’s your name again?”

 

“GADGET,” the empurata responded, clicking the pincers on her right claw. She didn’t miss the way Capacitor’s eyes focused on them, and anxiety nipped at the bottom of her tanks. She subtly moved her right claw just a little further away, almost out of view. Most people were at most annoying and ignorant, but that gaze didn’t feel like either. Or perhaps it felt like both and something more -- the visored speedster wasn’t sure. “GADGET OF CARTHEX.”

 

“Oh, Gadget, huh?” Capacitor pulled up a chair beside Gadget, seeming to want a conversation now. Gadget didn’t, as her finials flattened a little bit. The empuratee had two finials on either side, mounted just behind her screen at the rounded corners, and they often showed her moods.  That look in Capacitor’s eye had disturbed her, and the plane held too much eye contact for Gadget’s comfort anyways. The two on the inside were longer, while the ones closer to her muff-like audials were shorter. They quivered, as her antennae flicked once. Capacitor was still speaking. “I think I heard of Carthex. Isn’t it a mining colony? I think I visited it on a Senate supply drop once.”

 

“YEAH, IT WAS A MINING COLONY.”

 

“So... what’s a bot like you doing, being from there?”

 

“ALT MODE AND FRAME CHANGE,” Gadget answered dully, knowing the root question. Capacitor let out a little “ah” as she nodded. 

 

“Good you don’t have a Carthexian accent, you know? People might mistake it for Tarnian.”

 

“TRUST ME,” Gadget deadpanned, and it was only helped by her droning, computerized monotone. “IF YOU’RE AN EMPURATA, THIS IS A CARTHEXIAN ACCENT.”

 

“No kidding, how so?”

 

“CAN’T YOU USE A SEARCH ENGINE? WHY DO I HAVE TO EDUCATE YOU?” Gadget snapped, suddenly realizing she was quite irritated. Her finials flattened again, one on the left flicking, as Capacitor reared back a little, mouth falling open as her eyebrows knitted down. Gadget’s sparkbeat picked up.

 

“Bit rude, don’t you think?” She retorted, crossing her arms. “I’m just curious.”

 

“WHAT YOU’RE JUST CURIOUS ABOUT IS A DEEPLY PERSONAL AND DISCRIMINATED-AGAINST ASPECT OF MY IDENTITY,” Gadget fired back, finials perking up again as her high-powered engines revved once in challenge. “I HAVE A RIGHT TO BE SHORT ABOUT IT.”

 

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Capacitor muttered, standing as she picked up the chair to put it back. “Sure thing, Stamp. I’m just going to go find ReDouble, maybe  _ he’ll _ talk to me.”

 

Gadget felt guilt tinge her spark, and shook it off. Maybe she shouldn’t have been as rude, but it felt right in the moment. After all, Capacitor had been asking a lot of questions she didn’t have the ultimate right to know. 

 

So why did Gadget feel bad about telling the plane off? She sighed heavy through her vents. “I’M SORRY FOR YELLING. I’M REALLY TIRED. START OVER?”

 

Capacitor paused, eyebrow going up a little over her yellow eyes. “Uh, yeah, sure. I got a few minutes. I just got out of a meeting. I wish the commander would stay out of my exhaust pipe with all his worrying. He says there’s whisperings of Cons coming our way, I says show me how they find the place. I mean, we’re out so far I don’t even think  _ space _ could find us. And we’re  _ in _ space.”

 

“WE AREN’T REALLY THAT FAR. THERE’S JUST NOTHING AROUND HERE, IT’S WHY THEY PICKED THIS PLACE. TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION,” Gadget said, trying to patch things up, “THIS IS A CARTHEXIAN ACCENT BECAUSE IN CARTHEX THEY REPLACE YOUR VOCALIZER TOO.”

 

“No kidding,” Capacitor said, seeming to forget her grudge as both her eyebrows went up and she leaned back in her chair. “That sucks. You gonna get it fixed? I knew a guy that was stamped before all this shit went down. Poor fella couldn’t get it fixed so he went to a relinquishment clinic.”

 

“MM. YEAH, EVENTUALLY. I WANTED A FACE BACK, BUT ABERHALDE SAID THEY WEREN’T TRAINED FOR THAT, WHICH IS FINE I GUESS. I JUST SIGNED UP SO THEY’D REPLACE MY HEAD AND HANDS AND IT… IT JUST KIND OF SUCKS THAT I CAN’T GET THAT.”

 

“Yeah,” Capacitor said, nodding along, “Hey, you’ve got a better reason than I do, I joined out of spite.”

 

“SPITE IS A GOOD MOTIVATOR.”

 

“Yeah, my sparktwin joined the Cons, and we hate each other, ya know. So I joined the ‘Bots because for sure that’d piss her off. And look at us now. I’m assistant head of security for some bioweapons facility out in Bumfuck Nowhere and she’s Major General Flux of the Decepticons. See what it got me. I still feel like I got the short end of the stick, ya know.”

 

Gadget shrugged. “LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE. YOU AREN’T A TARGET FOR ASSASSINATION.”

 

Capacitor chuckled, slapping the table as an idle gesture as her shoulders loosely shook. “S’pose so. You’re kinda funny, actually. So, are you and Ree close?”

 

“OH, YEAH, WE’RE GREAT FRIENDS. HE’S NICE. WE HAVE SOME OF THE SAME SENSORY ISSUES, WHICH IS PRETTY COOL. MEANS WE CAN BOTH USE THE SAME FIX AND IT WORKS WITHOUT HAVING TO JERRY-RIG A DOUBLE FIX. ALTHOUGH HE HATES SILENCE, WHICH SUCKS BECAUSE I HAVE SENSITIVE AUDIALS. BUT HE AND I HAVE ROUNDABOUTS THE SAME LIGHT TOLERANCE.” Gadget finished, and watched Capacitor’s face for her reaction, feeling a bit like she’d rambled. Capacitor shrugged with her mouth, oddly quiet.

 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s good. So, you guys spend a lot of time together?”

 

“I MEAN, WE WORK IN THE SAME LAB EVERY DAY. SO. YEAH. WHY?”

 

“No reason,” Capacitor said, voice light. “It’s nice he’s got good friends, you know? I worry about him.”

 

“HE CAN GET A LITTLE DISTANT,” Gadget agreed, but didn’t see it as a big deal. She went back to her computer.

 

“Are you seeing anyone?”

 

“HUH? OH, NO. UH… PEOPLE DON’T… I’M NOT PRETTY. THAT KIND OF GOT TRASHED WHEN… WELL, YOU KNOW. UH. THERE’S THIS FEMME THAT I’VE GOT A CRUSH ON, BUT…” Gadget sighed wistfully. “SHE WORKS IN ANOTHER LAB AND I DON’T HAVE A REASON TO STOP BY, YOU KNOW?”

 

“Mhm,” Capacitor said sympathetically, studying Gadget with a careful eye. “Well, nice chatting with you, I’m gonna go find Ree. Have a good day.”

 

“YEAH, YOU TOO,” Gadget said, feeling a bit like she’d been interviewed. She shrugged it off, and went back to her work. Days continued as normal. Gadget and her fellow lab techs weren’t on the best of terms, but they got along well enough. The other techs had a tendency to gossip, though, and it was kind of annoying. But for the most part, Gadget didn’t have too many problems. They were polite enough.

 

She pondered this about a month later as she was carefully administering three tick marks’ worth of extreme basic solution to the mixture she was working on. Acidic chemoweapons were nothing new, but basics had their own special brand of burn. They often didn’t hurt as much but caused more extensive damage -- and in addition, they reacted violently with oils. Certain basics really didn’t agree with frame waxes. Gadget watched the basic swirl into the substrate and clipped the top onto the vial, flipping it back and forth to mix it well. The lights flashed in the lab, and Gadget looked up to the ceiling, finials flattening. ReDouble glanced up at well from his position at his desk. “What’s going on? What the hell is that?”

 

Sirens followed seconds later. The base was under attack -- all noncombatant scientists were supposed to report to a secure bunker at the bottom of the ship. Gadget tucked the vial of basic corrosive in her subspace. It wouldn’t do to have attackers get their hands on that, in the off chance that they’d know what to do with it. She turned her audials down to muffle the painful screeching of the alarm and flitted over to ReDouble to make sure he got up, watching other lab techs scramble out and to safety. 

 

ReDouble was sweeping datapads into his arms and subspace and lab coat pockets, as Gadget tugged on his arm, nonverbal. It was too loud for her to speak -- her head was fizzing too loudly, whipped into a froth by the sirens. “Wait,” ReDouble pled, “wait, I have to get these-”

 

The doors busted open and Gadget’s head whipped around to see. Two Cons came through, laughing to themselves, and one of them laid eyes on the pair of scientists still at the desk. He raised his gun and Gadget yanked ReDouble out of his chair, knocking the spinny chair over as she dragged him to shelter behind shelves. The blaster shots wrecked ReDouble’s desk and the microscope yelped. Gadget pressed her back to the shelf, spark pounding, and then risked a peek around the shelf’s side.

 

“We saw you run for it,” one taunted, as he looked around with his gun at the ready. “We know you’re still here, little scientists. Come on out, we won’t hurt you.” He and his compatriot snickered to themselves at what they considered the height of comedy, and Gadget’s brain fizzed so terribly. She took out the vial and glanced down at it. There was enough for one of them, but not for two. She glanced to ReDouble, flashing “CALL SOMEONE” on her screen as he nodded, eyes wide behind his glasses. Then she stood up and jumped out from behind the shelf, throwing the vial with as much power as she could muster. It sailed home and hit the frontmost Con in the face, exploding on impact and spattering the violently basic mixture over his faceplates where it began to sizzle. He must have had a wax with a lot of oil over his finish, because the substance wasn’t taking very well to it. He screamed and Gadget ducked out of the way as the other Con took shots at her. Her back hit the shelf once more as she listened to the first Con howl in pain, as the other one dropped his gun and started swearing in fear and concern. 

 

ReDouble tried to take deep breaths, but he was clearly panicking, and Gadget hoped that someone would get here soon or else they’d be toast. She didn’t have any other long-range weapons on hand and she would be doomed in hand-to-hand. ReDouble couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag if his life depended on it. Gadget heard the second Con haul up his buddy and flee, cursing as they went. She grabbed ReDouble by the arm and took them through the mechanical weapons’ door on the east wall, hopping two more labs before coming out into the hallway to run to one of the elevators and jump in. With a maddeningly casual ding as Gadget hammered the basement floor button, the doors closed and the elevator jolted before smoothly gliding downwards. On the second floor from the basement, it stopped, opening. 

 

A monstrous hand reached forwards and grabbed ReDouble by the throat, yanking him out like a doll as he shrieked. Gadget ran forwards to try and kick the Con in the shin, panicking and at a loss on how to help her friend. A blaster shot rang out, and the Con froze, eyes wide. Two more rang out and his chest burst, spark fizzing out with a mini explosion. It blew ReDouble back against the wall and he slid to the floor, groaning. Gadget ran to help him up as the Con fell forwards and the base’s commander stood a little ways down the hall, panting as his blaster smoked. Gadget hauled ReDouble to his feet, slinging his arm over her shoulders to half-carry him.

 

“This way,” the commander barked, “I got your comm -- you’re supposed to be in the bunker, what happened?”

 

“GOT HELD UP,” Gadget said back, rushing as fast as she could while hauling a dazed and woozy ReDouble. His feet kept up with hers as best they could, but they still scuffled. “BY THE WAY, MARK IT DOWN THAT MY EXPERIMENT OF ASHER’S BLEACH WORKS.”

 

“Oh, does it?” the commander said, rushing forwards to support ReDouble from the other side. “Great, I’ll make a note. Start production on it large-scale when we get out of this.”

 

Gadget nodded as the commander guided them down the winding hall. Capacitor joined them a little ways in, fussing over ReDouble until the commander jolted her attention back to the present. They worked well together, fending off Cons in their path as they escorted the two scientists to the elevator. They made it all the way there before two Cons flanked them from behind. Capacitor shoved Gadget into the elevator by the back, and by extension ReDouble stumbled with her. Gadget recovered, turning around to press the button for the basement. She pulled them both out of the way as the Cons fired, both Cap and the commander returning fire. Gadget peeked as the doors closed, spark pounding, just in time to see the Cons fire and Cap fire as well.

 

The shot from Cap’s blaster hit the commander in the back of the head as the shots from the Cons hit him in a muddied, bright mess of confusion. The elevator doors closed before the commander’s body hit the ground and Gadget’s vents stopped, her finials quivering. The elevator let out a maddening ding and jolted before it started its smooth descent. Gadget’s spark was burning in turmoil and the air felt too tight. The sirens came back into her field of hearing and wouldn’t allow themselves to be ignored again, as ReDouble slouched against her rigid frame and groaned. Had… had Capacitor just murdered their commander?

 

There wasn’t any time to think on it; the elevator had hit the basement floor. Gadget rushed them both out, running to the bunker and banging on the thick, rough metal door. The rivets were huge. The scanner by the door washed over them both, and the light beeped green, and the door clicked open for them to rush in to safety. Sirens still screamed even as Gadget and ReDouble huddled safely in the bunker. 

 

“I hope Capacitor is alright,” ReDouble hazily worried, in tears, and Gadget patted his back with a claw. Her own spark pounded. She’d never really been in a fight, not like that. The other miners got in short scuffles, most of the time not even for serious purposes. But this was war. Gadget was a noncombatant. She could have  _ died. _ ReDouble could have died! And she’d seen ReDouble’s conjunx  _ murder _ the base’s commander! What was she supposed to do? Should she say something? Gadget didn’t know.

 

The empurata wasn’t sure how long they all stayed in that bunker. Other scientists were murmuring to themselves, casting frightened eyes up to the ceiling. Gadget found herself surrounded by microscopes or spectrophotometers, even a centrifuge or two. She felt left out, not wholly a part of the group, and even amidst the tense situation she felt her determination to be just as good as they were fortify itself. Perhaps the scene she had just witnessed was causing her to panic -- she didn’t know. She felt like she didn’t know anything anymore. A boom shook the ceiling, and dust fell. Gasps littered the room as people stumbled and clutched each other, and ReDouble grabbed at Gadget’s claw, gripping it tightly for support as he nearly fell over. The empurata just waited it out like everyone else, until the sirens stopped howling and the lights stopped flashing. Commanders came down to check if everyone was alright, and Capacitor was at the head of the group. The fighters were looking a little worse for wear, but triumphant, and it was explained that high command would be coming in to make sure things were stabilized.

 

“WHAT HAPPENED?” Gadget asked frantically, ReDouble tagging close to both her and his conjunx. He was nearly hanging off of Capacitor’s arm. “WHAT HAPPENED TO THE COMMANDER?.”

 

“Commander’s dead,” Capacitor said urgently, looking around as she helped herd the scientists to the center of the bunker room. “He got shot.”

 

“Oh, god,” ReDouble murmured, eyebrows pulling up. “That’s terrible.”

 

“I SAW,” Gadget said, “I SAW Y-”

 

“We drove the Cons away, and that’s what counts,” Capacitor said firmly, and the microscope nodded along, staring up at her face as if she was an angel. Gadget knew then that she couldn’t say a word -- Capacitor’s yellow eyes stared her down like hateful suns and she seemed wired, hyped up on mechadrenaline. So Gadget shut her intake and went with it. The empurata had absolutely no desire to be the next to die.


	7. Polysemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flux and Megatron continue to have their differences, Gadget and Capacitor come into even more conflict when Capacitor is promoted to base commander, and Sunbeam gets a traumatic injury at the hands of the Wreckers. Meanwhile, Haven is forced to consider whether he made the wrong decision when he joined the Decepticons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers:**
> 
> **slight gore mention in describing Sunbeam's injury at the beginning of paragraph 75, and ending in the same paragraph (counting single sentence lines as paragraphs). In the immediate paragraphs following, the wound is mentioned and described but not in explicit detail.**
> 
> **if any other triggers need to be tagged please let me know!**

Flux eyed her hand of cards, face set into a peacefully neutral expression. The air was comfortable, warm with the scent of good engex. Flux had a creamed engex drink by her right hand, while Virtue held a glass of something a little more sophisticated and dry as he sat a little ways away with his legs crossed, on a small couch. Starscream had a sweeter version, a little darker and richer. Around the table with Flux sat Megatron, Starscream, and Soundwave. Starscream and Virtue were inseparable, and while Flux thought Starscream was a little too conniving for his own good, she did like and respect him. 

 

Virtue was also a cunning fellow, and while he was a hard read, Flux was pretty sure she liked him as well (well except for the fact that even though they’d known each other for a good while, he’d used the formal ‘you’ from the start for her. Talk about a little frosty! Flux didn’t really know what his problem was. Right from the  _ start? _ Ugh). The conversation had turned to Nyon, apparently, with Megatron discussing Hot Rod and how it was a shame that someone so shrewd hadn’t seen fit to join.

 

“I think that was his decision,” Flux offered, setting a card down. “One Prime, by the way. And besides -- he’d just had to exterminate his entire home city. Complimenting him on military shrewdness was callous.”

 

Megatron conceded this, grumbling. “I’m still not sure you didn’t purposefully dissuade him.”

 

“And why would I do that?” Flux bit back, a mite offended. “I simply advised him to do what he felt was right, whether he be Autobot, Decepticon, or non-aligned. This war is about people, Megatron.”

 

Beside Flux, Starscream put a couple of cards down. “Two aces. I have to agree with Megatron -- Hot Rod would have been a great advantage to our cause.”

 

“Well,” Flux retorted, as Soundwave watched it like it was some sort of back-and-forth match. “Perhaps he wouldn’t have been so disillusioned if Megatron hadn’t betrayed Orion by  _ literally shooting him in the back, _ and then deciding to execute Autobot prisoners. I still can’t believe you were going to execute Bumblebee!”

 

“It’s been a thousand years and you still haven’t let that go,” Megatron muttered. Flux rolled her eyes, and Soundwave set down his card. 

 

“One one.” 

 

“Bullshit,” Flux called. Soundwave tilted his helm.

 

“I’ve got four,” Flux explained, and Soundwave scraped the discard pile towards himself and added it to his hand. Flux turned to Megatron and addressed him. “Listen. I’m not holding a grudge against you, but -- and I realize I get preachy, but bear with me -- you cannot pull these kinds of ruthless behaviors and expect upstanding people to flock to the Cause. Nobody’s a saint in war. But at the same time, that doesn’t mean we can just throw morality to the wind, and I still believe that your decisions were wrong.”

 

Megatron acquiesced and laid down three cards. “Three twos.” Flux didn’t call him on it, but she was a bit suspicious. There was a tense moment of silence as she evaluated, and then decided to move on. 

 

“Two threes. Listen. I understand that you want to win this war, and crush the opposition, and all of that. I also want to win this war because this war is destabilizing and we need to get things under control so we don’t hopelessly wreck everything. But totalitarianism is easy to fall into. And quite frankly, I admire and respect Hot Rod being aware enough of his own self to make the decision that he did. After all, isn’t that the point?”

 

Starscream looked secretly very smug as Megatron backed down again, putting up his hands to show surrender -- but then again, Starscream always did love drama. The game progressed on, and Flux eyed Starscream. He was winning -- and she had a competitive streak a mile wide when it came to cards. She calculated which cards she’d have to put down when it became her turn, and subtly swapped some extras she had stashed away in the gaps of her leg plating with some of the ones she wouldn’t be able to put down -- she’d put them back when she wasn’t going with an ambitious move.

 

Soon enough, the conversation turned to less heavy things and it was Flux’s turn again. She laid her cards down. “Three fives.”

 

“Bullshit,” Starscream called, a bit whinily. Flux grinned at him. 

 

“Are you sure about that?”

 

He faltered, just a little, in her unwavering confidence. But he regained his stride, red eyes narrowing. “Yes! I call bullshit!”

 

Flux leaned forwards and smugly flipped her cards over, and Starscream jumped to his feet, yelling that she’d cheated. The cargo plane put up her hands. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about! C’mon, Screamer, you made the wrong call, go ahead and take the deck!”

 

Starscream sat back down and pawed the discard pile towards himself, grumbling as Flux cackled. Soundwave watched emotionlessly and Megatron surveyed this with a slight grin. Then, he puffed out a vent, still chuckling a bit. “I think I’m going to have to call it quits after this game, so if you all would like to keep going in my absence, you can.”

 

“I think I’m done after this one, too,” Flux agreed, wiping tears away from her eyes as she got the last few giggles from her system. Starscream was still pouty and said he didn’t want to keep going anyways, and Soundwave was silent. 

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


ReDouble jumped as Capacitor stormed into the research lab, seemingly pressed about something. “Look sharp, everyone! Got a group of bots looking to test the latest bioweapons in the field, so if anyone’s got anything they’re particularly proud of, hand it over!”

 

The microscope scrabbled over to another room, where a rack of weapons rested visible from the doorway. The biomechanics department and the bioweapons department often collaborated to make all sorts of nasty things (they were neighbors, after all), and they were stored for field testing in this room. Field testing wasn’t an entirely rare occurrence, but it was relatively unusual to have soldiers from off-site come to get weapons specifically. Behind the commander walked in three mecha -- the one most notable at the head being Impactor. The deal was that they’d field test the weapons on their next mission and report the results. Kimia was their usual stop, but Tebba wasn’t unheard of.

 

As ReDouble gathered some different guns and incendiary devices, someone from weapons development poked his head into the biomechanics lab, looking around. The bot was short, with a soft pastel pink frame made up of round shapes and as little sharp edges as possible. His visor was lit up a soft blue, and he tilted his helm. The lower half of his face was covered by a perforated mask. “Everything alright?”

 

“Field testing,” ReDouble assured, tossing the remark over his shoulder. “These alright to pick?”

 

“Yeah, sure!” The little guy, whose name was Palaver, retreated over to the shelves and stood on the tips of his pedes to reach something on a shelf a little too high for him. “Here, take this one too. I’ve been meaning to try it out. It’s got a real nasty boom. It’s magnetic, so even if you miss it’ll at least brush your target. Who’s testing?”

 

“Looks like the Wreckers,” ReDouble whispered conspiratorially, and Palaver’s visor brightened. 

 

“No way!”

 

As ReDouble ran the weapons back out, Palaver peeked out from the doorway again, hands wringing themselves shyly near his faceplate. Transactions were made, gratitudes exchanged, and ReDouble watched weapons he’d helped develop leave the lab.

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


Gadget came in for her shift a few minutes later, confused about the bots she’d passed in the hallway. The big black-and-yellow striped one in the front had nearly bumped into her because she was so short. She skittered to the side as he tossed an apology her way and kept walking, and resentfully, Gadget eyed the group and went back on her way. She walked into the lab to see ReDouble and Palaver chatting by the weapons room, Palaver propping the door open by leaning on it. The minibot caught sight of Gadget and waved, visor lighting up cheerfully. “Hi, Gadget!”

 

She flashed a smiley face and drifted over to her computer station, as Palaver and ReDouble continued to talk. She listened to them as she worked. The empuratee liked Palaver. He was an excellent weapons developer, but she’d been hearing rumors lately that he was leaving to go to medic school. He had the spark for it.

 

As if Palaver had read Gadget’s mind, he sucked in a gasp and yelled, “Oh! By the way, did you two know? I got accepted into a really good school!”

 

“Congratulations!” ReDouble gushed, and Gadget turned around in her chair. 

 

“CONGRATS. WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

 

“Uh, it’s a really nice school near the Bytrix quadrant? I’m going to study under a lot of great medics. I think Aberhalde is tired of me pestering them, so I think they’ll be glad I’ve shipped off,” Palaver giggled, hands coming to cover his mouthplate. “I leave at like, the end of next month?”

 

Gadget nodded, flashing a smiley face, and glanced to the door as their commander came in. She frowned, and ReDouble and Palaver shot each other looks. Palaver whispered “i’ll leave you guys to this” and slipped out, as ReDouble nervously wrung his hands, approaching Capacitor with an appeasing smile. “The shipment was alright? No mishaps? Biological weapons are always so delicate.”

 

They’d had the funeral for the old commander, a Spectralist one. High command had come in a week later, setting up Capacitor as the new commander for her “outstanding display of command in a crisis”. Gadget knew the secret. It scared her. Having Capacitor as a commander didn’t feel safe, it felt like Gadget was constantly looking over her shoulder. ReDouble was proud of his conjunx, but all Gadget felt was anxiety. How long until Capacitor tried to bump her off for knowing the truth?

 

“You’re not in trouble,” Capacitor dismissed, helm swivelling, until she caught sight of Gadget through the room’s above-head, central shelving. Desks were lined up on either side of the shelving, but Gadget’s desk was tucked away in a back corner, facing a wall. She had assorted trinkets on her desk, things she had been tinkering with. People assumed she was just neat, but she didn’t really collect enough things to be messy with in the first place. The odd gift or two from ReDouble sat on either side of her computer. Palaver had given her a stress squeeze toy. It had claw marks in it. “But, Gadget? We need to speak about your performance as of late.”

 

Gadget turned to face the commander, not rising from her chair. After empurata, she’d never been fond of authority, and Capacitor’s previous rough start to their relationship didn’t engender any warmth from Gadget. She inclined her head in a clear conveyance of, “I’m listening.”

 

Capacitor cleared her throat, a little miffed that Gadget hadn’t stood to acknowledge her presence. ReDouble scurried to sit at his own desk and get busy, trying not to eavesdrop. He would anyways -- Gadget was fine with that. After all, she’d been doing twice the work lately to get ahead of the other lab techs, determined to cement herself in a place untouched by stereotypes. Empuratees were “lazy”, “degenerate”, “bad-tempered”, “violent”, “reckless”, “disrespectful” -- all of these false notions and more added up to create harassment in the workplace, harassment in the hallways, and harassment from people who purported themselves to be fighting against that. Gadget knew the drill. She didn’t stand up. There were a few moments of silence.

 

The new commander began. “It’s come to my attention that your workload is slacking. Would you care to explain?”

 

Formal speech really didn’t sound right coming out of Capacitor. Gadget nodded anyways, absorbing that, and went over her worklogs from the last month, sure to run it visible on her screen as well. “IN. THE LAST MONTH? OR FURTHER BACK?”

 

“Last month is fine.”

 

Gadget scanned that, and then scanned her other coworkers’ work output. Just as she thought, her productivity was nearly thirty percent higher than anyone else’s, and she had the highest success rate in her projects. So Cap was blowing smoke out of her exhaust, whether she knew it or not, and she could see, past the translucent file running across her HUD, that Cap was starting to realize that. She coughed, and shifted, but seemed to hold her ground. She finished her scan, running the calculation results across the screen, and followed it with a question mark, tilting her helm. Was this just a way of reminding her to keep quiet? That high command could strongarm her anytime they wished? The commander frowned, brownish plating shining as if it had just been waxed. Her wings flicked a little. “Don’t let slacking become a habit,” she warned, and retreated, leaving just as some of Gadget’s coworkers came in for their shift. They were all giggling amongst themselves, some brandishing datapads which were sure to be holding Wreckers’ autographs.

 

Gadget huffed out an irritated vent, and turned back to her computer. Later that night, as she walked through the mess hall to get her evening ration, she passed Capacitor. She was explaining to a group of her friends what it was like to be a poor, marginalized empuratee and why that meant command shouldn’t discriminate. She got her facts wrong.

  
  


\---------------------------------

  
  


Flux walked into the medbay a little frustrated. She’d had some differences of opinion with Megatron lately -- not to mention that this war was quickly enveloping their entire planet with no hope of ending anytime soon. Megatron was taking a surprisingly hard stance on the matter, and it was eating at the pits of Flux’s tanks, like her gut was trying to tell her something.

 

She huffed the long day away with a heavy sigh and waved to Haven. He was on his

break. She’d brought snacks. The medic waved back with both of his left hands. It looked like he was attempting to clean, but he appeared rather too tired to be productive. Flux mumbled a greeting through a mouthful of chips, and offered him some. He grimaced a smile at his hands, hesitating.

 

“You don't have to, um… you don't have to pity feed me.”

 

“Go on, take some,” Flux enthused, “They’re really good. Besides, you deserve them. You work hard. You look like hell.”

 

That seemed to take the medic aback, and the air stilled as he cautiously reached in a top left hand and drew back with a few chips. Flux nodded to encourage, beaming effusively. Haven nibbled on them, eyeing her. “You seemed a bit frustrated. What's up?”

 

“Nothing much, just had a disagreement with Megs,” Flux sighed, scrounging around in the bag for more chips. “He’s really putting the heat on this. Maybe it’s an attempt to get it to end more quickly -- I hope so -- but it doesn't feel right.”

 

“Mm. You’ve got a good nose for things that smell funny, you know that?”

 

“Came out of the mold an antifascist and I don’t intend to switch anytime soon,” Flux touted proudly, puffing her chest a little. Then she relaxed, faceplates fading into gentle concern. “How about you? How are you doing today? You seem a little down.”

 

“I’m fine. Thinking about --" Haven cut himself off to shrug. “Nevermind.”

 

Concern grew, and Flux wordlessly offered more chips as she leaned in to listen. “Thinking about what? Wanna talk?”

 

“Nothing drastic, don’t worry,” Haven waved off with a quiet scoff, and Flux nodded, eyebrows still pulled up. The medic continued, “I’m just… thinking about leaving.”

 

“Oh! I’m glad it’s nothing drastic. Hey, you know you can talk to me anytime, right? If you want. I’d miss you, you cranky bastard,” she joked. 

 

Haven let out a tight laugh. “Yeah. Um. Thanks. And thanks, for the chips.”

 

“Of course!” Then, Flux frowned. “Leaving? Is something the matter?”

 

Haven looked down at his feet. He was leaning against his desk, and his optics watched his feet cross at the ankles. “I’m just old,” he sighed, “Old and tired.”

 

Flux sighed. “Want my advice?” she murmured. “Honestly? I think you should do what's best for you. Because of course unity as a Cause is important, but there comes a time we have to remember that a Cause is made up of living, feeling bots. Individuals.”

 

Haven nodded. “I’ve gotta get back to cleaning, but… thanks for the chips. And the talk.”

 

Flux pounded her fist gently into her chestplates twice, knuckles rapping against her badge. Haven returned the gesture on his windshield, where his badge was painted.

 

“Keep the chips,” Flux called, and walked out. As she ambled down the hallway, she thought of Chermiin. The tank had settled into her role as Major General of Ground Transportation where she was stationed, or so Flux had heard. The plane smiled a little to herself. Chermiin had been a little too busy to comm lately, but that was alright. The last time they’d talked, the tank had mentioned that she and her units were being deployed to the east quadrant, an area being hard-hit by Autobots. That had been nearly a year ago, and Flux hummed thoughtfully to herself, fondness blooming at the thought of Chermiin. She’d send her a comm tonight. Long dry spells of communication certainly weren’t uncommon with deployed officers, but Chermiin could still stand to remember that she had someone eagerly awaiting a comm.

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


_ “This,” _ the slim, tall mech in front of the line said, as she paced back and forth in front of the lineup, “Is Garrus-9, and  _ I _ am Campe.” She was all sharp angles and long edges, with huge, folded up wings on her back and a long, sectioned tail that hung behind her like a garment train. It had a bulbous barb on the end of it, coming to the point of a deadly-looking stinger. Her helm was intricate and decorative, almost like a crown. A sensory crest with flat, foldable panels lay splayed out behind her primary helm spires. The paint on them was stenciled and traced with delicate, geometrical designs. “I am the warden of this prison, and I do not tolerate disorder. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Chermiin nodded along with the rest of the group, eyes taking in the bot’s deep indigo and brilliant white paint. It was interspersed with flashes of sky and egg blue.

 

“You will address me as either Warden or Campe,” the tall mech said firmly, voice calm and neutral. She seemed austere -- strict, even -- but thus far, Chermiin wasn’t getting a particularly sadistic or unfair vibe. Then again, they’d only just met. “This is a maximum security prison. All of the guards are armed accordingly. However, this is a penitentiary, and I expect the appropriate attitude from everyone, staff and prisoners alike. This is a place to serve your time and think on how to better yourself, be you Autobot or Decepticon. We have psychiatric and medical services on retainer for anyone who feels the need, and all services provided will remain anonymous under doctor-patient confidentiality in compliance with the Medical Privacy Act of 201 First Cycle. You may apply for or discontinue psychiatric services anytime you feel the need without cost -- it is part of the clinic program here.”

 

The tank felt the cuffs chafing against her wrists, hands bound in front of her and attached to body shackles. The other prisoners in the lineup weren’t much better off, several of them members of her units. The guards had stripped her of her guns, and she felt bare and vulnerable. Worry gnawed at her. What few of her units hadn’t been captured would likely be declared missing in action, or dead -- she didn’t know. And she would possibly be expected to break out -- nigh impossible in this place, if the rumors were correct. So she had that to worry about, too. She didn’t really want to break out, she was finding. Campe kept speaking.

 

“Those of you who pose an extreme threat or have confessed to your crimes will be kept in spark containment. The rest of you will be escorted to your cells. That is all.”

 

Their cells were singles, with a bed large enough to accomodate. Chermiin looked around as she was pushed in, the door slammed behind her. The walls were scratched and dented metal, with a spartan bedframe with a mattress, a pillow, and a blanket on top. There was a small table by the bed for any collected trinkets or personal affects. Those on the outer walls had windows, barred like the doors so that prisoners could communicate. The design didn't appear to solicit isolation -- just lack of confrontation. It was hard to get in a fight with your cellmate if you didn't have one. But maybe they weren’t allowed to talk across the hallway. Chermiin hoped they would be. Fighting just wasn’t her cup of high-grade, and she hated stony silence.

 

Chermiin settled into her cell, lay down on the bed with her optics roaming over the ceiling, and thought about Flux. She missed the plane. She missed her warmth, how she smelled -- a mix of steel and good comfort food -- and her spark ached. She should have been on her game. But the Autobots had won that battle, and taken her prisoner. She found herself thinking of Flux’s laugh, her voice… her beautiful eyes. Flux was a fundamentally good, kind person. But paradoxically, she was well suited for war. She cared for her units like she had forged them with her bare hands, tucking them under her broad wings. She weaponized her kindness and her empathy to rally others and keep them in the land of the living. Chermiin admired and respected her -- the tank and her units were close, but each and every one of Flux’s units, new or old, was like spark-kin.

 

Chermiin fell asleep late that night, drifting off to the sound of the night guards chatting and the hum of the prison’s ventilation system. She had been pleasantly surprised to find that chatting across the hallway wasn’t something that even garnered the blink of an optic, and sometimes a guard even joined in. Before she fell over the edge of sleep, she thought she could feel a strong arm drape itself over her midsection. Then, all went dark and quiet.

  
  


\--------------

  
  


Haven sighed at his desk, shuffling things around in an attempt to clean. Really, he was just pushing work around, but he was just too tired to do any of it. The air was far too warm and it was making him drowsier than normal, his eyelids feeling as if they were freshly welded shut. The medic groaned, scrubbed his face, and briefly reminisced about his days teaching at the Academy. One of his best students had joined the Autobots -- Haven was starting to think he should have followed Ratchet. But Megatron’s words had snatched in his sense of compassion, hook line and sinker, and now he was stuck choking on the bait. He shook his head and got up to walk around, hoping to clear his head with a little movement.

*******

The medibay doors burst open, with Kardyo hauling in a bloodied and crying Sunbeam. The nurse was bleeding profusely from a dramatic head wound, some of his brain module peeking out from the blast crater in the side of his head. His eyes had been destroyed by shrapnel, and Haven jumped into action after a shocked “primus above!”, helping Kardyo get the nurse onto a bed and immediately prepping to operate. No words had passed between them. Haven laid a lower hand on Sunbeam’s shoulder as his other hands whirred furiously to gather tools. “Sunbeam, tell me what happened.”

*******

“Wreckers,” Sunbeam bawled, “It hurts, I, I…” he fumbled for words, slurring them incomprehensibly. Haven caught what he thought was “wreckers” and “field medic” and “supposed to be neutral”. He just patted and shushed the young one, putting him under for stasis so he could get to work.

 

“Kardyo, laser scalpel,” he barked, holding out a hand. The other doctor handed it over and watched as Haven began delicately cleaning up the jagged wound, hands moving like a breeze. Up close, he could see how the wound stretched at an odd diagonal path of destruction from the back of Sunbeam’s helm to glance off of the side. It almost appeared to have a weak curve around his temple area. “Get him on an energon feed so he doesn’t run dry.”

 

Kardyo did as asked, still quiet. Then he spoke. “He got blown to hell, I saw it. One of those Wrecker bastards looked right at him when he was patching up one of their own and shot him in the head. We weren’t even in a fight, we were picking over the field. I dunno why he was patching up the other side, but he insisted on helping both ours and theirs.”

 

“He’s got good medic coding,” Haven muttered as he worked. “That’s brutal, Primus. Did they think he was hurting the bot?”

 

“I dunno how they could’ve, seeing as how he’s got the medic crosses and he was welding someone’s leg wound. They just used him for target practice.”

 

Haven tutted, not knowing what else to say. Perhaps his assessment about sides had been premature. “Terrible. Was he suffering from the aphasia on the way here?”

 

“Yeah, he was slurring pretty bad. I didn’t think he’d lived through the blaster shot until I saw him move. That was the most comprehensible he’s been on the whole shuttle ride back. I did my best to stabilize him.”

 

“He’s probably got some damage, then. Good work stabilizing, Kardyo.” Haven mumbled as he went in to do the real surgery. It took him hours of delicate work, eyes straining with how intense he was focusing, but eventually he stood back, sighing harshly. Sunbeam’s brain had been repaired as best Haven could, his helm patched up around it and his eyes restored. “Alright, I’ll monitor him. Kardyo, you can go off shift.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“I’ve got this, thank you. Go on, clock out. Get some rest.”

 

“Mm.” Kardyo grunted, waving at him as he did so and left in a bit of a hurry. Haven petted Sunbeam’s forehead tenderly and frowned, shaking his head. Shooting noncombatant medics? What was this whole affair coming to? Downright disgraceful. The medic let the thought go and went to wash his hands, the energon collected in his joints seeping out and rushing down the drain. Once he was clean, he dried his hands, and went to go sleep at his desk, right next to the bed Sunbeam was taking up. He wanted to be right there in case something went wrong in the night -- the speech apraxia was a bad sign, possibly indicating lasting damage. Haven only hoped he’d patched things up fast enough.

 

Sunbeam woke on his own the next morning, blearily stirring. Haven woke out of a deep sleep on instinct, subconsciously registering the noise of a patient’s possible need, and yawned, stretching. The lights in the medibay were still dim and the air was cold. He ambled over to Sunbeam to check on him, and tucked the blanket up a little further. “Good morning, kid. How are you feeling?”

 

“I…” Sunbeam’s optics were dim, and they flicked around. “I can’t see.”

 

“Are your optics online?”

 

“No, but I can’t reactivate them.”

 

“Well, you were hit near visual and speech centers. That’ll probably come back in a few days, kid. Your visual center took a pretty big hit. Other than that, you feeling better?”

 

“Yeah, I…” Sunbeam stumbled over his words, pausing as he tried to gather them. “I… uh… My head feels funny. Hurts a little.”

 

“Well, you did get it nearly blown off,” Haven said, dialing the painkiller in his energon intralinear feed up a tick. “You’re lucky that shot was a glancing blow, or it could have killed you. Kardyo says you were tending to an Autobot when it happened?”

 

“I’m sorry, sir, I…” Sunbeam tripped on the phrase. “I, uh, I just wanted to help-”

 

“Relax,” Haven soothed, patting his shoulder, “I’m not upset at you. I think that’s a very good medic’s instinct, matter of fact. First above all --”

 

“-- do no harm,” Sunbeam finished, his lips stretching into a smile. “Yeah, that’s what was going through my, uh, my head. At least, um… at least I think.”

 

“Good kid. You’ll have to stay in bed for a few days, just so I can keep an eye on you. Your sight should return in a few hours. I patched things up as best I could.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Sunbeam said, hand fumbling for Haven’s lower right forearm. Haven just laid another hand over it and then withdrew, attending to his duties throughout the day. Late afternoon, Sunbeam called for him. “I’m starting to see things again! I can see now!”

 

“Oh, excellent,” Haven said, bustling back over to check him out with the penlight in his index finger. He shone it over one eye to see how it reflected, and Sunbeam frowned when he pulled away.

 

“I, um…” he said, hesitant, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but have we met?”

 

Haven frowned, taken aback. “I should hope so, you just called me over. It’s Haven, kid.”

 

“Oh! God, sorry, you just -- you looked different. I didn’t recognize you. Sorry.”

 

“S’okay, kid. Let me know if that gets worse, okay?”

 

“Yeah, I will. I just. Did you change your paint, or something?”

 

“No, nothing.”

 

“It has to be something, because you look like a total stranger and that’s -- well, ridiculous. You even sound totally normal, you just look -- you look like I’ve never met you in my life. Like I don’t know you from Dent!”

 

“It’s probably prosopagnosia,” Haven explained, drifting back over from where he had taken a few steps away. “Whether or not it’s temporary, well… only time will tell.”

 

“It did hit my visual centers, you said,” Sunbeam said hesitantly. “So… do you think it’s permanent?”

 

“Kid, I just don’t know. Not yet, at least. For right now, don’t strain yourself and get some rest, got it?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

By the next day, Sunbeam was up and walking with some help, Haven hovering nearby in case he stumbled. He was mostly fine after a few minutes of getting readjusted, and so the senior medic retreated to wipe down counters. Sunbeam tottered over to help. 

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Haven scolded, wagging a finger. Sunbeam shrugged widely. 

 

“My job,” he said, “We’ve only got three medics aboard this ship, for whatever reason.”

 

“I’m sure we’ll get more eventually,” Haven grumbled. “Kid, you just woke up from a traumatic brain injury. Don’t strain yourself.”

 

“I’m not! Is wiping down counters sufficiently boring?”

 

Haven had to chuckle at that, giving up and nodding before tossing his rag to Sunbeam and going over to organize the ready-operate tables. He sorted tools as the two worked in amicable silence, and Kardyo walked in to relieve Haven of his shift. The CMO was admittedly grateful -- he hadn’t left the medibay since Sunbeam had come in. The young nurse turned from wiping counters, his yellow plating gleaming in the light. “Oh, can I help you?”

 

“Uh,” Kardyo said, one eye ridge going up, and Haven came over to him. Sunbeam flushed in embarrassment upon hearing Kardyo’s voice.

 

“Oh, Kardyo,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that, sir.”

 

“He’s got some acquired prosopagnosia,” Haven muttered to Kardyo. “Make sure he takes it easy. I said cleaning the counters was fine, but nothing too strenuous. We’re hoping it’s temporary.”

 

“With a shot like that, it’s probably not,” Kardyo said, in a tone that implied Haven should know that. The CMO sighed. 

 

“Yeah,” he said, glancing back at Sunbeam, who had gone back to cleaning. He made a mental note to say a quick prayer for the kid’s speedy recovery before he went to collapse into some well-earned recharge. “I know.”

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


Sunbeam rubbed at his temples, eyes squeezed shut as he sat at his desk. The lights had been horribly bright lately, and they’d been giving him migraines for the past week. He was back in commission for all but the most stressful medic duties, and Haven was turning out to be a lot more understanding than Kardyo. Which wasn’t surprising -- Kardyo had always been a little bit of a jerk, but it was still frustrating. And he still couldn’t tell either of them from a hole in the wall when he looked at them. He couldn’t even picture their faces in his mind’s eye.

 

After popping the fourth cybuprofen in as many hours, Sunbeam groaned and put his face in his hands. He’d been guzzling headache pills lately like vitamin supplements and he knew such heavy use wasn’t exactly beneficial to his tank systems. He stood up and stormed into the supply room, where extra parts and medical supplies were kept. He perused through the visor section with a fine-blade squeegee, scraping through discarded possibilities. There were screen visors of all shapes and sizes (not what he wanted, he still had his head), full face glass visors (he wasn’t interested in that aesthetic), half-face rounded visors (cute, but no, they were too clear), and… as he drifted to a stop in front of one section, he hummed thoughtfully. In front of him was the box of carefully stored thick chevron visors, tinted a soft orange and attaching at the sides of a bot’s head. He plucked a kit from the box and took himself to his office, ripping open the bag and spilling the smaller attachment parts onto his desk. Realizing he’d forgotten the tools to put it on, he grumbled to himself and retreated back out to the main room, hunting around for them. Kardyo was on his break at the moment, so it was just Sunbeam, and Haven was due in for his shift this afternoon into the night.

 

Sunbeam went back to his office with said tools and worked on screwing the glass visor over his eyes, drilling the attachment points into either side of his head at his temples with a slight grimace. It stung a little, but it wasn’t too bad. It drilled into the recent welding, but it was a tiny drill with a tiny bolt, so it wasn’t a big concern. Then Sunbeam drilled the other side, and attached the chevron visor at its two points, sighing in relief as the orange filter slid over his vision. Already the harsh light was soft, and he felt strain that he didn’t even know was present filter away from his eyes. He wasn’t sure if the cybuprofen had set in or the visor was helping, but his headache drained away as if it had never been there. He sighed in relief once again, and got up to putz around the medibay to look busy for Kardyo, even though there was really nothing to do.

 

Kardyo walked in minutes later, and Sunbeam was pleased to realize that it had only taken him just shy of a minute to recognize him. The senior doctor looked around. “You’ve been busy. What’s that on your face?”

 

“Visor,” Sunbeam supplied, “The lights have really been giving me headaches. I got a little fed up, I guess.”

 

“You sure you attached it right?”

 

“Yeah, it wasn’t any trouble, why?”

 

“Nothing.” Kardyo drifted over to his office door, opening it to start on his piled up paperwork.  Kardyo was always kind of a jerk, so Sunbeam just shrugged and went back to his job.


	8. Extrication Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven finally makes his decision to leave the Nemesis, Flux and Megatron come into conflict over Megatron's proposal of an internal review division, Praxaghora faces mounting dissonant voices over her ex-Senator status, and the end of the chapter is a bit of a revenant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers:**
> 
> **-Mentions of a suicide starting at the beginning of paragraph 134, ends at paragraph 147.**
> 
> **If you need anything else tagged please let me know!**

“What?”

 

Flux recovered from her quiet outburst of chuckling, swirling her drink as she sat across from Megatron in his habsuite. His decoration was still spartan, even as a warlord who could conceivably seize anything he liked. “Nothing, it’s just -- I remember, once, I told somebody I didn't make trouble.”

 

Megatron choked on his own fuel, fit of coughing falling into hearty laughter as his servo slammed the table. It vibrated with the impact, and the warlord’s laugh made the air feel warmer. For just a moment, they were back in his gladiator’s quarters, yucking it up over some shitty fuel and mutual affection. Flux clung to the feeling as long as she could. Things were… cold, lately, as if the army had caught a chill.

 

“In my defense,” the plane joked after Megatron had calmed a little, “I was fresh out of the mold.”

 

“Ah, cold constructed?”

 

“Mhm. Me and Cap both. I think cold construction is beautiful, you know? You can just create life whenever you feel like it. I think it’s amazing.”

 

Megatron smirked, eyeing her oddly. His red eyes gleamed.  “You find beauty in the strangest things.”

 

“Somebody has to around here,” Flux deadpanned, quirking an eyebrow. Megatron conceded that, opening a palm and dipping his head with a shrug of the lips that said “alright, I'll give you that”.

 

“How are you doing?” The cargo plane asked, suddenly more serious.

 

“Flux, you see me every day.”

 

“In a professional setting! I want to know how my friend is doing. Things have been… different lately.”

 

“I suppose I'm doing well.” Megatron sipped at his Energon. “Nervous, really. Quite a lot of dissenters out there.”

 

Flux raised an eyebrow critically, and Megatron amended his statement. “Disloyal ones, Flux. Your counsel is valuable to me, however ugly it can get.”

 

“That’s the problem, Megatron,” Flux explained, exasperatedly as she put her fuel aside to lean forwards, arms opening as if to plead reason. “What draws the line for disloyal dissent? Who decides that? And how would you keep that in check? A certain amount of dissent is healthy! It lets you know how to proceed with matters.”

 

“I have an idea in the works for keeping that in check,” Megatron waved her points aside. “And I am worried because certain disloyal dissenters might try to employ  _ assassination _ as one of their tactics.”

 

Flux sighed, leaning back so her landing gear hit the back of the chair. “Megatron, have you ever considered you're more unpopular because we’re not doing the right thing?”

 

Megatron surveyed her over his fuel, thoughtfully. “You're still upset about the measures we’re taking.”

 

“Of course I am! It’s never sat right with me, the things we’re doing. You know that.”

 

Megatron nodded. “I'll take that into advisement.”

 

“Megatron, you said that to me a month ago, and then you slaughtered an entire surrendered Autobot unit at Simanzi,” Flux pleaded frustratedly. “I can't help but feel you don't value my counsel as much as you say you do!”

 

“Flux, don’t be ridiculous. You’re one of my closest friends.”

 

“Maybe so, but… I don’t know, this just feels wrong. Really wrong.” She sighed, shook her head, and got up. “I have to get ready for the meeting later today. See you then.”

 

“Mm.” Megatron hummed, lifting his glass in goodbye to her. Two hours later she filed into the Conclave seating with her fellows and sat, as Megatron came in as well and began.

 

“Conclave is now in session,” he said, “Thank you all for coming. Are there any concerns or questions as we start today?”

 

The hall was quiet, soft murmuring the only sound registering. A cough or two rang out, and Megatron nodded, taking in the quiet. “Good. As of today, we are going to be launching a new defensive campaign. As you all well know, we have secured all but the tiniest crevices of Cybertron, and I believe it’s time to turn our attention elsewhere.” 

 

Flux reclined. Brokering peace, perhaps? It was about time. Perhaps the Autobots would be open to a treaty -- now would be a good time, especially with recent Decepticon military achievements. Hope bloomed in her spark, and Megatron kept speaking. “There is a clear and present danger from the Black Box Consortia, the Galactic Council, and other terrorist organizations,” he said, voice firm. “They wish to annihilate us solely because we are mechanical and they are not, and as such I believe it is our duty as protectors to launch a full-scale attack on these terrorists.”

 

Murmuring took off like wildfire. Praxaghora stood, grasping the arm of the person next to her. Dunedealer wasn’t in today, likely sent on a mission by Megatron. She and Deadlock had been turned into his own personal assassins, spreading carnage far and wide at his behest. The person next to Praxaghora translated. “Praxaghora has a question. Do we have the resources to fight more than one war at once? Perhaps we should focus our attention on securing the planet completely. The Black Block Consortia has a history of sterilizing planets containing mechanical life -- we would do well to be cautious.”

 

“Can it, Senator!” Someone shouted across the aisle, heckling. A few chorused shouts of agreement followed, and Praxaghora’s mouth fell open as her eye ridges furrowed dramatically. Her fingers fluttered and the person translated dully, as if reading from a book. The inflection was wrong.

 

“I am not a Senator,” they said, “How dare you accuse me of such! I am a Decepticon, the same as you are. I have concerns about our resources, and if we will be stretched thin or not!”

 

“We will not be,” Megatron said decisively, as Flux frowned at the scene unfolding before her. “The Decepticon army is certainly mighty enough to withstand  _ organics _ as well as our current military situation. We can crush the opposition, and move on to the planet Ythure.”

 

“Absolutely not!” Flux cried, standing abruptly. “I register my hearty objections with this matter, my liege!”  Her audials were dangerously close to whistling.

 

“Pipe down, will you?” Someone else snapped, jumping to their feet as well. It sounded like the same person that had heckled Praxaghora. “Being a leaking spark won’t get you anywhere in war!”

 

“There’s a difference between being a leaking spark and this! Ythure isn’t even openly involved with either the Galactic Council or the Black Block Consortia!” Flux yelled back, not cowed in the slightest. “We have a responsibility to keep ourselves from becoming the monsters we rose up against and-”

 

“We have a responsibility to protect our fellow mechanicals,” The other person argued, “These organics harbor serious ill will towards us!”

 

“Where does it stop, then?” Flux snarled back, plating bristling even more. A few nodded along, some even murmuring, ‘aye’. “This is a foolhardy, reckless and  _ prejudiced _ plan! It is our responsibility to protect and serve those being oppressed and in doing this, we will become the oppressors -- I guarantee it! We can’t launch a full-on assault just because a species of organics has been -- has been  _ side-eyeing _ us particularly hard! Ythure has been approached by both organizations -- and no one can deny that the  _ lesser _ evil of the two is barely above the level of a group of mafia shakedown  _ thugs _ \-- but they’ve made no attempt to take an agreement, or provide them with funds or aid of any kind! They have no shortage of anti-mechanical sentiment, but from what we can gather now with the information we have -- it’s all talk. It’s not even talk with intent, by all reports. Half of the cultures of Ythure are obligate pacifists and the other half don’t even have a  _ concept _ of war. This is -- my liege, surely you see that this is  _ preposterous! _ This is  _ untenable!” _

 

Flux looked to Megatron for support, who appeared unmoved. “Both of your concerns have been noted.”

 

_“Noted?_ **_Concerns?_** We are talking about possible _genocide_ on a _pan-universal scale if this gets out of hand!”_ Flux shouted, and her opponent scoffed. 

 

“As if it would come to that -- you’re just afraid to take the action that needs to be taken!”

 

“I’m  _ afraid _ of absolute power corrupting absolutely, and we’re  _ all  _ susceptible! Just look at the lot of you!” She cried, sweeping an arm out. “I know  _ at least half _ of you would have treated this campaign like the imperialist --- imperialist  _ crock _ it is just a half-century ago! And now you all sit here, nodding your heads as we attempt to rationalize  _ conspiracy to commit genocide? _ What is going  _ on? _ Are we  _ Senators? _ Am I  _ missing something _ here?”

 

“It seems to me,” Megatron answered, coolly, “That you think you’re at a rally. We take the vote now -- all in favor say aye in the matter of launching a strike against the organic race of Ythure?”

 

“Nay!” Flux screamed, pounding her fist on the gallery wall, and she was joined by a several who had been swayed by her passionate argument. Praxaghora was among them, using her borrowed translator. Still, most said nothing or even said “aye”, nodding as if it was sensible, and Flux stormed down into the foyer and towards the door, calling over her shoulder, “Let the records show I register my  _ extreme and vehement _ objections to  _ every inch of this half-cocked plan _ \-- this egregious display of  _ imperialist might! _ I see no need to stay since we seem to have lost the right to make decisions affecting other people, and so I take my leave in protest!”

 

Praxaghora followed her, sweeping her cape so it didn’t drag on the steps, feet light on the ground as she caught up with the plane. Jeers followed the smaller bot, and some even threw bits of trash from their subspace. Megatron bellowed for quiet, and things settled down, but it was too late -- Flux and Praxaghora were already out of the room, and Flux slammed the door behind them so hard that it bounced. The two slowed once they were out in the hall, and Flux crossed her arms, jaw setting against itself as her teeth ground together and her eyes cut to the side. She shook her helm, huffing steam. “Ridiculous,” she muttered. “Who does he think he is, Primus?”

 

Praxaghora snorted and waved it aside, laying a hand on Flux’s arm to ask if she was alright. The plane nodded, sighing wearily as her arms uncrossed and she began to amble down the hallway so they weren’t hovering near the entrance. Praxaghora followed, fingers tapping nervously. 

 

“Do you think he’s really going to go for it?”

 

“I hope not,” Flux said, eyebrows shooting up. “There’s no basis for lashing out at organics. Sure, the Black Box Consortium is a major problem, and the Galactic Council doesn’t exactly have the warm and fuzzies for us, but… those are just two groups. I… I didn’t like how general he was speaking.”

 

“So you got a bad feeling too,” Praxaghora said grimly, and Flux nodded.

 

“Very,” she huffed, and then frowned. “I heard what they were saying in there. Are you alright? Has that been going on for a while, the Senator thing?”

 

“Not so publicly,” Praxaghora answered, “But I hear things through the wiring. Once a Senator, always a Senator, they say.”

 

“Pfft,” Flux said, rolling her eyes. “They just need someone to point fingers at. You’ve done just as well as anyone else here. How’s your conjunx? No one’s harassing her?”

 

“No, she’s well. She’s on an assignment now… I wish she’d get home soon. I miss her.” (50

 

“Yeah,” Flux sympathized, patting Praxaghora’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I have to go, but I’ll catch up with you later, alright?”

 

The ex-Senator nodded, withdrawing her hand to gently wave Flux off.

 

Megatron caught up with Flux later, as she fumed over a cube of energon in one of the rec rooms about the whole fiasco. The bad feeling in her tanks wouldn’t go away and had only gotten worse. It was poisoning the taste of her food, even the feeling of the air on her plating. She felt vaguely nauseous. Megatron came in and sat down beside her, quiet for a moment. She took a swallow and cut her eyes over, feeling in her tanks getting worse as her cheeks heated with embarrassed anger. “I seemed to think I was at a rally? Really?”

 

Megatron winced. “Maybe that was out of line.”

 

Flux grumbled into her cube and took a swig, refusing to give him a better answer until-

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Instantly, she relaxed, smile fading into view. It felt a little forced, and she hoped it didn’t look that way. “S’okay. I’m not making things difficult on purpose, I swear. I just think we’re making a titan-sized mistake here. This could easily get really,  _ really _ out of hand. I mean, what if we -”

 

Megatron took her free hand in his, and simply held it. She quieted, looking from her hand up to his face, which was open and sincere. “I promise it won’t.”

 

“Good. Keep that promise. In the meantime,” Flux smiled. “Didn’t we have some poetry to read? I swear I remember you telling me about this really good one you’d found.”

 

Megatron chuckled, head ducking as his eyes closed and he nodded. “Yes, I did. Later tonight?”

 

“Works for me. And for what it’s worth? I think… I think something  _ does _ need to be done about the Black Box Consortium. But I know you, Megatron, and I know how you think. You’d sooner die than compromise sometimes, hand to Primus.”

 

“You’ve got me,” Megatron admitted, shrugging, “You’ve got me dead to rights. Old teachings, Flux, I… old habits.”

 

“Old habits,” Flux agreed. “You don’t have to tell me, but just… keep in mind that things are different now. It’s not so black and white, mechanicals good, organics bad. It never was.”

 

“Mm.” Megatron’s smile faded a little as he sobered, nodding, but Flux wasn’t sure if it was in agreement. She got up, dusting imaginary dirt off of her thighs and sighed, heavily. 

 

“All is forgiven,” she said, with a tone of fresh start. She extended a hand to pull him up from the couch and pulled herself forwards to brush chests with him. “Excuse me, I’ve got to meet someone. Just got a comm. See you tonight.” After she separated, she gave him a casual salute, and he returned it, waving her off as she turned to walk away. She left the room and went down the hall, answering Haven’s comm of  **:Just got off shift -- are you free? We need to speak.:**

 

Flux answered as she walked, two fingers habitually to her audial.  **:Yeah, sure. Is something the matter?:**

 

**:No, no. I just have some news I think you’d want to know.:**

 

Flux sped up her steps, admittedly a little anxious. Vague comms weren’t her favorite thing, and she couldn’t stop the apprehension blooming in her tanks. She arrived at the medibay, knocking on the doorframe, as Haven worked at his desk and Sunbeam putzed around doing menial chores. “You wanted to speak to me, Haven?”

 

“Oh!” Haven exclaimed, getting up and walking over. “Yes, actually. Here, walk with me.”

 

So Flux did, walking beside him with her hands clasped behind her back as Haven spoke.

 

“We’ve served a million years together,” he started, his four hands swishing in gestures. “And being on the longer side of five million, I’ve seen my fair share of upstart youngsters. Hell, my students in medical school used to make fun of me when they thought I wasn’t looking. Lightsparked ragging, of course, but I digress. The point is… I know I can be distant, but… I think of us as friends. And as friends, and more importantly as your doctor, I thought it best to let you know that… um… well, I’m…” 

 

He sighed, pausing in his steps, and his top right hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Flux paused, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, hey, you alright?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just-” Haven waved her away, getting a little choked up. “Sorry, don’t know where this is coming from, I promised myself I wouldn’t -- Flux, I’m… I’m leaving. The Nemesis.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah, it’s just, the stress, I --” he sighed, heavily. “It’s not good. And besides, Sunbeam, he’s more than ready to be a doctor, Kardyo can replace me as CMO and Sunbeam can move up and they can take on a younger bot. Someone who’s less…” he huffed and flopped his hands up before they fell back limply to his sides. “Washed up,” he finished lamely. (75

 

“Washed up?” Flux said, taken aback.  _ “You? _ Haven, you’re a legend. Your beginning theory on extreme spark resuscitation has made a whole new field take flight. You’re renowned across star systems for your medical and surgical prowess. You taught Pharma, you taught Ratchet for Primus’s sake! ‘Washed up’ isn’t even in the first billion adjectives I would use to describe you. Tired? Sure. Weary? Yes. Depressed? Absolutely. But… washed up? Haven.” Flux speared him with a saddened look. “Haven, come on. Never ‘washed up’.”

 

He chuckled bitterly, looking away to scrub subtly at his eyes. “Ah, thanks. But… it’s something that… I feel I had no choice but to take.”

 

“Very diplomatic of you,” Flux half-joked, and then sobered. “You sure I can’t change your mind?”

 

“No, it’s a done deal. The paperwork’s been finalized, I’m being transferred to the  _ Excoriant _ . A smaller ship, a new CMO to train after the old one offed himself. Teaching’s good. Gives me purpose. And Sunbeam, well… he’s ready. It’s time for me to move on.”

 

Flux took it in, nodding, before laying a hand on his top left shoulder. “Then I wish you the best of luck. Please stay in touch.”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Haven said, and then inhaled in surprise when Flux brought him in for a quick hug. He recovered, field pulsing gratefulness as he composed himself. “I’ll be transferring your care to Kardyo, as Sunbeam is still technically a nurse. I’m leaving in a month or so… I’ll be promoting him before I leave.”

 

“Mmm,” Flux hummed in agreement, nodding. “Thank you for telling me. Good luck with your new post, Haven… I’m sad to see you go.”

 

“That means a lot to me,” Haven said, nodding as he glanced up at her face. “Yeah. Uh. I should go, I didn’t get a lot of recharge last night.”

 

“Yeah, absolutely, go ahead and get some sleep,” Flux jumped to agree, patting his shoulder before withdrawing. They parted separate ways in the hallway, both of them wanting to look back but neither of them doing so.

  
  


\------------

  
  


Dunedealer wiped down her swords and quietly fled the scene, leaving the two targets dead on the ground. Her spark ached -- she missed the simple life of being a blacksmith. She missed her conjunx, and the minibots who used to live with them. She really did hate being out on campaign, but when Megatron asked for two bots to be merked, well… 

 

She shook her head as she rode back to her shuttle. It was the dead of night on a mudball planet, and the dirt was slippery under her dunebuggy wheels. She wasn’t built for muck, she was built for sand -- and the only type of sand this planet had was wet sand. Not to mention the closest beach was leagues away. Dunedealer brushed the idle musing away as she transformed and exclaimed in quiet disgust at the mud in her treads. She dropped the hatch to the shuttle and stepped on, impatient to board when her comms suite rang. She didn’t care for being away from her ship for too long, lately. It was nearly two million years in.

 

“Dunedealer,” she answered, gruffly. Megatron came in on the other line. 

 

“Is it done?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Excellent. You have a new assignment.”

 

“But sir, I haven’t seen Prax in weeks-”

 

“There’s time for that, Dunedealer. This is an important assignment, vital, even. Deadlock is otherwise engaged and you are closest. It’s on your way back, in fact. Can I trust you?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” she agreed, not knowing that it was her first mistake. “What are the specs?”

 

“I’ll have Soundwave send you the details shortly. Kill all targets on sight, detain none. I want it definite and clean.”

 

“Got it. How many?”

 

“Three,” Megatron answered. “Soundwave will send you the rest. Return to base after you finish the job.”

 

“Copy that,” Dunedealer said, and turned off comms as she trudged up the dropdown hatch. 

  
  


\------------

  
  


“All rise for Lord Megatron, head of the Conclave,” the meeting minute-taker announced, as the doors opened and Megatron strode in. The minute taker had a camera. All Conclave sessions were recorded.

 

Flux rose with the rest, saluting with them as well. It was the official salute rather than the casual one, rigid and firm. Megatron returned a casual one and nodded, holding up a hand. “Thank you. At ease, officers. First matter on the docket is rather an important one.”

 

Flux sat with the rest of the Conclave, her supporters gathered around her. She had amassed a following lately. Meanwhile, she and Megatron had devolved further into discordance. He was acting cruel lately, and Flux was stuck wondering when he had changed. Two million years in, and Flux’s prediction of genocide had come true. It sickened her tanks. The most infuriating part was that nobody seemed to care anymore -- it had been a three day issue and now there were more supporters than indifferents. Naysayers like Flux were nearly unheard of. Now, detractors like herself drew eyes in the hallway. Conversations hushed when she passed by, and people avoided her gaze. (100

 

Megatron cleared his throat. “I’m bringing a proposal to the table to create a sort of internal investigation bureau.”

 

Flux nodded, hesitantly, eyeing him. Perhaps this could be a decent idea. There had been a burgeoning class of cruelty amongst the ranks, even among her fellow officers, and it needed to be stamped out. But Megatron had changed at some point, and Flux was starting to get the feeling that there was only one bot Megatron cared about -- himself. Himself and his power.

 

“They would be known as the Decepticon Justice Division,” Megatron said calmly, “and they would deal with traitors and deserters.”

 

“I have an objection!” Flux called immediately, standing just as quickly. With irritation, she noticed Megatron do something that looked suspiciously like rolling his eyes. She brushed it aside to keep speaking. Even though she was given the floor in the letter, she wasn’t sure if it was being given to her in spirit. The room felt thick with indifference and the Decepticon constellation in the ceiling shone mockingly. “How would these deserters be dealt with?”

 

“To the fullest extent of our code, as is policy,” Megatron led, as if it was obvious. “Is there a point you would like to make, Major General?”

 

Ignoring the passive aggression, Flux huffed before responding. A bit of steam snorted out of her nose. “Yes. As I’m sure you all know -- after all, you all voted it into law two centuries ago -- the fullest extent of the law is execution. So, Megatron, will this,  _ internal affairs bureau _ be doling out executions?”

 

“If the punishment fits the crime.”

 

“Mhm. And, say, in whose interest will they exercise their power?”

 

Megatron eyed her, and the low buzz of chatter started to dwindle as a cold tension entered the room. “They will act as instruments of the Cause, making sure we stay strong and true.”

 

Flux let the bullshit slide -- for now. “I see. And to whom are they accountable?”

 

The room had gotten a lot quieter now as they realized what round of questions the cargo plane was putting Megatron through, and he looked  _ pissed. _ “They are held accountable by me.”

 

This was quickly shaping up to be the power grab Flux thought it was. “Interesting. How can we get rid of them?”

 

Megatron sucked on his teeth a little, as his foot began to tap and his helm tilted up and to the side a little. His optics cut towards the doors. He was glancing into the middle distance out of the corner of his eyes like he was attempting to keep a very tight leash on his temper. “We can always,” he said, very evenly and measuredly, “dissolve the group by a unanimous vote in the Conclave.”

 

“You fucking oilstain!” Flux exclaimed under her breath. It was usually easy to tell when Megatron had just added something in on the fly. That meant he hadn’t bothered to think of a way to to dissolve this Justice Division.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, my liege,”  Flux called back. “I just -- would you mind terribly if I listed my complaints from the bottom up?”

 

Megatron’s mouth shrugged and he swept a hand out in a gesture of “go ahead”.

 

The cargo plane took a breath, and began. “First of all, having a unanimous vote would ensure that you could always simply veto any attempt to disband. If you still want a high number of votes to disband, consider asking for a supermajority. Secondly, if they are held accountable by you, and not the people, I’m sorry, but I just can’t swallow that. To be perfectly frank, I think that you have a high possibility of abusing that power.”

 

Whispers tore through the room at that like wildfire, as Megatron ground his teeth. “ _ Thank you,” _ he led sarcastically, “for the  _ astounding _ vote of confidence, Major General.”

 

“It’s not as if I don't see you as a great leader,” Flux offered, meaning it. “But you need to be a  _ good _ leader as well as a great one. As of right now, I do not feel as if you are emotionally mature enough to oversee a black ops hit squad. In all fairness, I am not sure any  _ one _ person  _ would be _ \-- it isn’t just you, my liege. In fact, I wouldn’t even trust  _ myself _ with that responsibility. I propose some sort of council to exercise oversight -- possibly even this very Conclave. The responsible thing to do with that kind of power is put as many checks and balances on it as we can logistically manage -- I mean, come on, it’s playing judge, jury and executioner all in one go. Execution can’t be undone by an overturned sentence.”

 

She took a vent, and noticed that the room felt largely in her favor, and not just because she was standing amongst a crowd of her supporters. “Third, I feel the notion of a hit squad targeting deserters is  _ far _ too extreme! Deserters speak to an internal problem. I have seen cruelties amongst my fellow officers that turn my tanks. It’s no wonder some people decide enough abuse is enough. In my opinion, we need an investigation bureau to root out the climbing percentages of abuse reports. This needs to be taken seriously, and simply executing all deserters is like painting over a rust infection. It’s just covering up symptoms of a larger, more insidious sickness.”

 

Her fellow Conclave members nodded, and Flux bowed. “Thank you for your consideration, my liege.”

 

Megatron dipped his helm to acknowledge as she sat back down, but it looked a little shallow. “All in favor say aye?”

 

Praxaghora stood up, Dunedealer translating for her. “Are we voting on the revised version, or the original?”

 

“At the moment, there is no revised version,” Megatron answered, and Flux noticed there was a special kind of tightness in his voice. Due to their longstanding friendship, she was good at picking out his little mannerisms, and he hers. (125

 

The conjunxes frowned and nodded, and took their seats. Heads came together as people murmured to themselves at length, debating and discussing. It never failed to warm Flux’s spark -- to see representatives for the people act in the people’s interest, to see them discuss issues with deep thought and consideration. She lived for these moments, when helms bumped and voices were low. The hushed conversations were so numerous that they still managed to echo in the grand meeting hall. This…  _ this _ was why she had joined the Decepticons.  _ This _ was why she served on the Conclave.

 

After several minutes of fierce discussion, Megatron was greeted by an overwhelming majority of nays -- as a matter of fact, it was nearly unanimous. As Flux watched, he very clearly struggled not to snap the datapad in his hands in two. She nodded to herself. No, he was not the person to be calling the shots for a hit squad. She left the hall as the meeting was dismissed, filing out with Praxaghora. The two walked together for a while, and Flux went to visit Sunbeam in the medibay. Now that Haven was out, the younger doctor was her best chatting outlet in the medibay. On her way, she passed some of her units yucking it up in an otherwise empty rec room. Conure saw her and cheered, lifting a glass of engex and whooping drunkenly as Carapace and Regus tried to wrestle her down from dancing on the table. Flux called for them to be safe before continuing down the hallway. She poked her head into the medibay, seeing Kardyo at Haven’s old desk. “Hey, do you know where Sunbeam is?”

 

“Kid’s probably in his room,” Kardyo said, “he’s taking it kind of hard.”

 

Flux’s brows furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

 

Kardyo paused in his scribbling of notes, glancing up and over at Flux. “You mean you haven’t heard?”

 

“Heard what?”

 

“Damn… uh… we just got the news day before yesterday. Haven passed away a few weeks ago.”

 

Flux’s fuel pressure dropped so quickly she thought she might faint. She blinked, eyes widening. “P… passed?”

 

*******

 

“Yeah. They ruled it a suicide. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I kinda knew it was coming. He uh… he requested a Primalist funeral, apparently. He left a note and everything. He mentioned you, actually, that’s why I… that’s why I thought you knew. Sorry you had to hear it like this.”

 

“Is there any good way to hear it?” Flux answered miserably, wings slouching so far they scraped the ground. Her entire posture sagged tiredly against the doorframe. “When he hadn’t commed me in a while, I just assumed he was in a slump and needed some space… I should’ve… I dunno, I should’ve commed him, I should’ve…”

 

“What? Nothing much you could do, he’s been ready to die since before I knew him. Some people you just gotta let go.”

 

Flux turned away so that Kardyo wouldn’t see her cry, attempting to find Sunbeam’s room to ask him about it and offer some comfort. In her distressed state, Megatron found her.

 

“Hey,” he said, corralling her in front of him and holding her gingerly by the shoulders. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

 

“I, uh,” Flux sniffled wetly, looking away to try and banish her tears by staring very intently at the wall. “I just found out. Haven’s dead.”

 

“Primus,” Megatron muttered, “I thought someone had let you know. I told -- never mind. Would you like to come sit and talk about it?”

 

“Yeah,” Flux nodded, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yeah, please, I’m…”

 

“You two were close,” Megatron supplied, “It’s alright to be upset. Here, come.” As he ushered her to a more private room, he updated her on the situation after determining that she wanted to hear it. “The report came in a couple of days ago from the  _ Excoriant. _ Haven committed suicide by some sort of poison, but the tox screens aren’t back yet. They gave him a Primalist funeral with Silverframe presiding -- you remember him, right? They ejected the old doctor into space. It was supposed to have been a lovely service.”

 

“I just wish I could’ve done more,” Flux whispered, leaning against him while staring blankly at the ground. “He… he didn’t even comm me before.”

 

“I imagine he didn’t want to worry you,” Megatron soothed, rubbing her shoulder. “There was an investigation to see if it was foul play, but it looks like… it looks like it was really a suicide. There was a copy of the note in the report if you’d like to read it. He mentioned you.”

 

“I heard,” she sniffed thickly, hiccuping. “Can you… um… can you send it, and maybe I’ll read it later? I’m not… I’m not ready right now.”

 

Megatron nodded, eyes closing as his hand kept rubbing. “Of course. This is… tragic.”

  
*******

\----------------

  
  


Flux was there early for the Conclave meeting. It had been nearly five years after Megatron’s first proposal of the DJD, and he was acting very strange lately. Something had to have been wrong with him. He was furious with Flux for months after her first successful attempt to shoot down his idea. After his initial tenderness broaching Haven’s death to her, he didn’t speak to her outside of orders for nearly a week. Haven’s note still sat heavy in her subspace, unread and unopened. She couldn’t bring herself to accept he was really gone. Her spark ached at the thought of him. Sunbeam was also distraught, and it wasn’t helped that Kardyo had demoted him back to nurse a year ago on the basis that he wasn’t of sound enough mind.

 

Since the first attempt, Megatron tried again and again to form this Division, and Flux had managed to shoot it down every time. She’d amassed a bit of a following with this. But something odd was happening. She couldn’t help but notice that there had been a lot of resignations and transfers lately -- and a lot of new rookies taking their place. Seasoned Conclave members -- some of Flux’s dear friends -- had suddenly decided to pull out with no warning, or were transferred to somewhere where it would be impossible to bodily make meetings, forcing them to resign as well. It smelled of an attempt to erode her standing, but those were strong accusations to level at one’s commanding officer. If she was wrong, she could very well have charges against herself brought. Flux shook her helm. That had never stopped her before, what was wrong with her? 

 

Perhaps it was just her, seeing patterns where there weren’t any. But, with the erosion of her support, fighting this new Justice Division had gotten to be more and more of a monumental, Primal effort. The last two meetings, she had only managed to convince enough nays to win by two -- Praxaghora and Dunedealer were the clinching votes. The walls were closing in, and quickly. With no small amount of stress, Flux noted that she might not be able to hold the vote if Megatron brought it up this time. Someone had spread a rumor in the last month that had severely damaged her reputation; that she was so opposed to this division because she herself was doing something she didn’t want found out. It wasn’t true, but enough people were side-eyeing her in the hallways that she didn’t delude herself into thinking the Conclave members had somehow escaped hearing about it.

 

There were hardly any other people in the hall, as Flux reclined in her chair. A few other people filed in, and the plane watched them chat amongst themselves, a pang hitting her spark. She missed Chermiin, but the sharpness was beginning to fade from the ache. She’d found out that Chermiin had been captured recently. At the very least, she was glad Chermiin was safe and alive. Garrus-9 had a reputation of being a fair place.

 

Light filtered in from the overhead skylights, illuminating the deep, dark purple floor. The seats were all upholstered a lighter shade of Decepticon purple, woven with soft materials. The skylights were set up to appear as stars forming the Decepticon badge as a constellation, but only abstractly. It was enough to get the idea, but not so much that it was heavy handed. The architect designing this room had been quite skilled indeed. Megatron’s seat at the front had a desk, but the seat was rarely used. Megatron preferred to stand, leaning back against the desk’s front as he spoke to the assembled legislators. 

 

More and more people filed in, as the chronometer ticked closer and closer to meeting time. With a growing sense of dread, Flux fidgeted in her seat, watching the timepiece with anxiety. Finally, the minute-taker announced Megatron’s entrance, and all stood up to give the salute. Stand, salute, sit, debate. Stand, salute, sit, debate. It was like clockwork, like the chronometer on the wall, over, and over and over. But Flux had the terrible feeling that that rhythm was teetering dangerously close to a slope from which there was no going back up.

 

After being bade to be at ease, all sat, as Megatron took his usual place leaning back on the desk. One of his hands came down on the desk behind him to brace himself on the edge, fingers curling down the front edge. He lifted the datapad in his other hand to read it, clearing his throat. But he didn’t jump right into business. He paused for a moment, as all was quiet. “Quiet crowd today, hm?”

 

A soft chuckle ran through the crowd. Megatron continued. “It feels like death in here, good god. Come now, lighten up a little. We just have a few things to take care of today, and hopefully Major General Flux won’t take three hours debating every little item on the docket so we can all go have a drink and a card game afterwards.”

 

Flux’s cheeks burned in shame at the public jab disguised as a joke, and they burned even hotter as a majority of the Conclave laughed at it. She forced herself to laugh along as well, and shrug jovially as eyes turned to her. “What can I say,” she bandied out, repeating it a few times in an attempt to follow the humor. Next to her, Praxaghora pursed her lips tightly. Dunedealer muttered something crude. After a few moments, the laughter died down, and they got down to business. For the most part, it went smoothly. Flux was almost pleased. Perhaps they could get through an entire meeting without-

 

“Last item on the docket,” Megatron announced, “On the matter of the Decepticon Justice Division-”

 

She spoke too soon, it seemed.

 

“And what would that entail?” Flux interjected suddenly, standing. She knew what it would, but she’d be damned before Megatron pushed this through. She was going to make herself as much of a hassle as possible. There were some rookies in the room who were attending their first meeting -- and she could be absolutely positive that Megatron would gloss over and sweeten this item as much as possible. They deserved to know the truth.   
  
“If you had let me finish, I would have explained,” the warlord said through gritted teeth. He relaxed, and his shoulders went down a little. “This Justice Division would function as a sort of internal affairs bureau, ensuring that all Decepticons follow guidelines appropriately and enforcing the rules.”

 

Flux nodded. “And by enforcing, do you mean hunting down traitors?”

 

“I mean that they will investigate and enforce the rules that we have set forth in the Decepticon Code of Engagement,” Megatron said, clearly trying to keep his cool. Flux kept nodding, mouth shrugging. 

 

“I see. And what sort of punishments would this Division be employing?”

 

“They will be punishing infractions based on the Code -- desertion, as would be logical,” Megatron ground out. 

 

“What’s to stop them from abusing their power? Who would they be beholden to? You? Themselves?”

 

“Me, and other members of High Command,” Megatron snarled subtly, now getting really pissed. “Trust me, I-”

 

“You. They report to you.” Flux leaned back a little frowning. “Because time and time again, you have said that they report to just you -- time and time again, you have refused a larger oversight committee. You routinely refuse to change the vote to disband them from unanimous to supermajority. That means that since you also have a vote, you can simply veto it with barely lifting a finger. This is an authoritarian, fascist power grab, and I cannot help but feel that you are creating what is essentially your personal enforcement squad. I’m sure you all find that as concerning as I-”

 

**_“Major General Flux, take your seat!”_ ** Megatron roared. Flux ground her teeth, plating rising, and all eyes were on her as she slowly sat back down. She huffed out a blast of hot air as Megatron collected himself again, clearing his throat. “Thank you.”

 

He sighed through his nose, and Flux narrowed her eyes. Something was up. Why wasn’t he just taking the vote like he always did? He seemed quiet, contemplative almost. 

 

“I would be willing to make a few amendments to this item.”

 

Whispers blazed through the room, Flux sitting back in her chair. She couldn’t deny that the news pleased her, but something still felt off. Megatron continued, “I am willing to revise the disbanding vote to a supermajority. To add to that, to ease concerns, I will also give them license to investigate internal reports. Major General Flux brought up an excellent point several meetings ago in that there is a growing percentage of abuse reports. That seems like something that would perfectly fall into the purview of a Justice Division, does it not? There could be some sort of reporting hotline set up, perhaps.”

 

Flux gritted her teeth. He’d sacrificed an acceptable loss and replaced it with the possibility of something much worse. Moral repugnance aside, it was an impressive strategic move. He’d always managed to outfox her in debates like that; it was her one weakness in a battle of words with him. The plane stood up haltingly. She had to be careful about this -- if she outright refused, she could very easily have these concessions revoked. “An excellent idea, my liege,” she began. “I have a hesitation, however.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes, I... as for this internal investigation, and this reporting hotline, is the penalty for crimes still death?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“So with something as grave and final as execution, you might understand why I would be a little reluctant. Would there be any sort of checks or balances on false reporting? This could be used as a political assassination tool, worst case scenario.”

 

“Concerned, Major General?” Megatron joked, and Flux’s teeth ground again subtly. She forced herself to laugh along with the crowd.

 

“Forgive me, I just don’t wish to see things get out of hand.” And with that, she sat, and Megatron nodded. 

 

“Admirable. Now, shall we cast a vote upon the revised version? Again, the revisions are; the disbanding vote requires a supermajority, and the Division will have the authority to investigate internal reports rather than just simply deserters. There will also be an open public comm line to report instances of abuse or criminal activity.”

 

The ayes had it, and Flux bowed her head in grief as her longest running fight in the Conclave buckled before her very eyes. There was something almost poetic about it. Some sort of waxing lyrical statement about how she had joined this movement rising up against fascism and now, as much as she toiled and screamed, fascism had taken root right in front of her and there was nothing she could do. But statements spinning poetic yarn didn’t help the fact that there was now going to be a Decepticon secret police, and Flux couldn’t think of anything to boot.

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


Haven’s systems jerked online when he felt more than heard the lid of his coffin move, his eyes flying open. His stasis lock disengaged and he took in a wheezing gasp, feeling his ventilation system unfreeze and his muscle cabling relax from paralysis. Light peered in and three pairs of eyes looked into the coffin. Haven closed his eyes against the blinding light and heard someone exclaim in disgust and gag.

 

“Oh god it’s a corpse,” they muttered, and skittered a few steps away, mumbling something about gray paint. Light brightened, visible even behind Haven’s shuttered eyelids. He winced, and someone chuckled. 

 

“It’s not a corpse, Venturefar,” someone else said. They had a gentle voice. “It’s someone who needs our help.”

 

Haven cracked his eyes open, groaning. His systems were still fritzing, likely from the remaining cybrodotoxin. Above him leaned someone who was framed by the light like some sort of Primal spirit, brilliant paint glittering. The gentle stranger reached in and grabbed one of his still-weak hands, hauling him up by one of his still-weak arms. “That’s it, up you go. Are you well?”

 

“I think so,” Haven said, scrubbing his face with an uncooperative hand. “Unless I miscalculated the dosage, and I’m really in the Afterspark. Can’t be, though, I’m still exhausted. What year is it?”

 

“Approximately a year after the 2 millennia mark of the war,” the gentle bot said. “What’s your name?”

 

“Haven of Helex,” the doctor said, “and yourself?”

 

“My name is Sanctuary -- these are my two bondmates, Flinch and Venturefar. Flinch is the more serious one. Venturefar is the one who’s less than keen on dead bodies.” 

 

“Understandable,” Haven said, and tried to get up. His jelly knees buckled on him and two bots surged to catch him, steadying him.

 

“Easy there,” Sanctuary cautioned, “You’re pretty weak. Don’t push yourself.”

 

“Yeah, a few CC’s of cybrodotoxin will do that to you,” Haven grumbled, stepping out of the coffin with more than a bit of help and looking around at his surroundings. His coffin was lying partially unearthed in a dirt mound, the sky clear and green with no clouds. Sanctuary smirked, just barely, glancing at the Decepticon badge painted on Haven’s chest.

 

“You sly turbofox,” he said, and Haven glanced at him.

 

“You do what you gotta,” he said, “Can you get me to an Autobot recruiting station?”

 

“Of course. Here, we’ll take you aboard our ship. Can you walk?’

 

“Yeah. Thank you for the help.”

 

“On the contrary, you seem to be helping  _ yourself _ quite a bit, Haven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, eight chapters already! it took me this long to remember that i haven't made a single effort to make an end note! sorry about that, y'all. I hope you're enjoying this fic <3 if you like it, please leave a kudos or a comment! it'd help me out a ton and I love hearing from y'all!
> 
> thank you for reading :]


	9. Rot and Ruination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gadget and ReDouble continue to grow closer, even while Gadget and Capacitor continue to chafe. Dropthing makes a reappearance, Kardyo is CMO (for a little while) and then the medibay is rocked by the hotheaded arrival of a new CMO. However, before that happens, they're visited by a grim officer of the execution court, so to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers:**
> 
>  
> 
> **none that i can think of, but please let me know if you need something tagged!**

Gadget sat in the bar, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, as she surveyed her comrades as they danced and swayed with the music. Above them, a holovid screen played, in Gadget's line of sight. Since the music drowned out the sound, subtitles were on. The flashing, multicolored lights were a little distracting. Some of the patrons sat at the counter, downing shots and watching it. Next to her, Capacitor and ReDouble were cuddling, snuggling up to each other and giggling quietly to each other. The empurata mostly paid them no mind, a drink held in her claw. The bartender had questioned her choice of drink, attempting to give her the blandest thing on the menu before she'd even ordered. "What does it matter," he said bemusedly, "you can't even taste anyways, right?"

 

Gadget didn't bother to explain that while she didn't taste conventionally, she'd long since started to rely on texture and feeling -- was it spicy? Was it thick, or thin, or syrupy sweet? Did it have a bite of lingering coolness, freezing the inside of her intake? Instead, she just stated her preference from the menu. She'd had to say it two more times to get her point across, and finally retreated back to the booths, where Capacitor asked why it had taken her so long to get two fingers of old corroder, and did she want to get shitfaced? That was strong stuff, and she was just expressing concern as the empuratee’s commander. Gadget didn't answer. Her intake structure didn't even allow her to take in enough at once to get truly drunk anyways. Capacitor had called her a bitch under her breath, and ReDouble had swatted her arm and hissed "Cap!" very quietly. The plane begrudgingly apologized, and then the atmosphere went back to the respectfully chilly air between the two. ReDouble seemed to assume that was as good as it was going to get, and did his best to involve both his friend and his conjunx in the conversation from that point on. So far, Capacitor had made no attempt to merk Gadget like she had the commander, but that didn’t mean the empuratee was at ease around her.

 

"Say," ReDouble tossed over to Gadget, looking over his shoulder from being snuggled into Capacitor. "Did you ever hear what happened to Palaver? Last I heard, hasn't he already started his residency?"

 

"YOU TALK TO HIM MORE THAN I DO, REE."

 

"Ree?" Capacitor remarked, shooting Gadget a glare. She flashed a rude glyph on her visor.

 

"RELAX. I'M NOT HORNDOGGING IN ON YOUR JUNXIE. HE'S NOT EVEN MY TYPE. NO OFFENSE, REDOUBLE."

 

"None taken," ReDouble chirped her way, and then glared subtly at Capacitor. "And seriously, dear, it's alright."

 

Capacitor settled down with a grumble and went quiet, as ReDouble and Gadget chatted about Palaver. The minibot had long since left to pursue his medical studies, and sometimes forgot to stay in touch. Last either of them had heard, he was beginning his residency period. The empuratee hadn't heard where it was, but Palaver had mentioned something about prison clinics and how he was happy to be assigned there. He was always looking to do the most good. It was an admirable trait, Gadget thought. Maybe, when or if he came back, she could ask him to make her some hands, if he was qualified. She missed the little guy. The weapons lab wasn't as soft or pretty without him. Next to the visored bot, ReDouble and Capacitor had started kissing, with Capacitor having an arm tightly around the microscope's midsection. He had a hand splayed over her chest, fingers teasing idly at the edge of her cockpit window.

 

Life on Tebba could be isolated, sometimes. Gadget didn't blame ReDouble for being all over his conjunx; after all, she was up to her elbows in commander duties with no sign of slowing down. The couple had dry spells where they weren't able to see each other, even being stationed on the same base. Gadget just watched the holovid. It was some documentary about Decepticon culture. It was quite fascinating, really. She'd have to get the name of it so she could watch the whole thing later. On screen, a neutral reporter was interviewing someone in what looked like a neutral bar. The Decepticon being interviewed was nervously tight-lipped, not giving too much away. He mentioned a few language idiosyncrasies that had popped up. Lecturing was known as "fluxing", apparently, and Gadget tilted her helm. That was a strange use of language. 

 

As she watched, curious about how such a leap between definitions could be made, the Con explained that Major General Flux had a reputation for being preachy. He wasn't sure when the word had come up, but her campaign against the Decepticon Justice Division had had her doing all sorts of public speaking stunts. Filibustering, exhorting, cajoling, pleading, arguing, debating -- she had so thoroughly debated it for five years that a new word had become part of Decepticon vernacular in her honor. (Or her ridicule, as the Con explained. It was emphatically not a compliment, apparently, though he seemed to have nothing but respect and more than a little awe for her.) She noticed his anecdotes all seemed to follow a script, that painted Decepticons as superior and without flaw. 

 

They all seemed to be carefully crafted to satisfy curiosity but still spout cleverly disguised propaganda, and Gadget watched with interest, curious as to what it was actually like behind Decepticon lines. She was no stranger to propaganda, the Autobots did it all the time. It was in the way her colleagues talked about how the Decepticons had been bad from the start, or little things her commanders showed people. That wasn't to say what the Cons were doing wasn't terrible -- but Gadget felt strangely apathetic. She'd had that problem lately, she'd noticed. Tired apathy, born out of her need to keep her head down and survive. She'd just joined for a head and a pair of hands and she'd found herself strung along for 2 million years. She was beginning to doubt that she would ever get hands. 

 

Next to her, ReDouble broke off of kissing Capacitor, trying to catch his breath, and wiped his mouth, glancing over to Gadget. "Er, sorry."

 

Capacitor looked very smug, a smear of oral solvent around her mouth, and squeezed his waist a little tighter. Gadget just waved a claw to say she was fine with it -- she wasn't even paying attention anyways -- and got up, bidding both of them goodbye. She was just going to go back to base and… and maybe sit in her room, or something. She didn't have much else to do -- it wasn't as if she had any friends other than ReDouble.

 

The next morning, in the very wee hours, Gadget was up in the lab, tinkering. She couldn’t sleep, nervous energy skittering in her brain. The doors opened, and ReDouble walked in, yawning as he stretched. He had paint transfers and more than a couple subtle dents. Gadget trilled a greeting and he jumped, blue eyes blowing wide behind his half-moon glasses. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t know you were already up. What are you doing here? Aren’t you off-shift?”

 

Gadget shrugged. “COULDN’T SLEEP. WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT OF YOUR CONJUNX’S ARMS?”

 

ReDouble laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry about that, we can tone it down if you want?”

 

The empurata shrugged again. “NO BIG DEAL. JUST GIVING YOU GRIEF. WHAT’S UP?”

 

“I couldn’t sleep either, actually,” ReDouble mentioned, coming over to see what she was tinkering on. “Capacitor got called away again. Commander stuff. Um… sorry about last night, and the things she said. I talked to her about it, told her that wasn’t good.”

 

Gadget nodded, flashing a smiley face. The two talked for hours over their projects. At one point, after a period of comfortable silence, ReDouble turned to her. “Hey, Gadge? What was Carthex like?”

 

The empurata put down her work, thinking about that. “DIRTY.”

 

ReDouble laughed a little, clearly expecting her to go on, and she decided to oblige him. She felt a wash of gratefulness that he was her friend -- he was a good one. “UH. STRICT. REAL STRICT. WE WERE ISOLATED, A MINING CITY WAY OUT IN THE DESERT, SO THE LOCAL FUNCTIONISTS WANTED TO LOOK REAL GOOD FOR THE CENTRAL GOVERNMENT. THERE WAS A RICH PART OF TOWN THAT I NEVER SAW BUT IT WAS REALLY SMALL. BUT WE ALSO HAD COOL HOLIDAYS THAT NOBODY ELSE DID. 

 

THERE’S ONE WHERE EVERYBODY IN THE CITY HAD TO GO TO WORK LIKE NORMAL, EXCEPT WE WERE ALL INVOLVED IN A CITYWIDE GAME OF TAG. WHOEVER WAS ‘IT’ BY THE END OF THE DAY GOT AN ENERGON PIE TO THE FACE ON THE COURTHOUSE STEPS. THERE WERE STREET VENDORS FOR IT AND EVERYTHING. AND IF YOU DIDN'T WANT TO PLAY, YOU COULD APPLY TO BE A SAFE ZONE AND WEAR A BADGE.”

 

“That sounds like a ton of fun! Were you ever ‘It’ by the end of the day?”

 

“ONCE, WHEN I WAS JUST OUT OF THE MOLD. BUT AFTER…” she glanced down at her claws, and the smile fell from ReDouble’s face a little. “UM. AFTER MY. PROCEDURE, I WAS ALWAYS A SAFE ZONE.”

 

“Why?”

 

“EMPURATEES WERE ALWAYS SAFE ZONES. THEY SAID WE WOULD CHEAT. IT WAS JUST AN EXTENSION OF THE SURGERY.”

 

The microscope’s face fell even further. “That’s terrible…”

 

“YEAH, WELL, FUNCTIONISM’S DEAD NOW FOR SURE. WHAT ABOUT YOU? CRESTOVER HEIGHTS? THAT HAD TO BE NICE.”

 

“It was,” ReDouble sighed immediately, wistfully, and then cringed. “I don’t mean to -- to gloat.”

 

Gadget shrugged. ReDouble took that as permission to continue. “All of the buildings were clean and new, and it felt like you’d never meet a stranger just walking down the street, and… and we had all these great restaurants lined down the block -- all of these amazing stores where you could buy incredible things…”

 

“EXPENSIVE THINGS?”

 

ReDouble coughed once, looking away. “Um. Yes. Expensive things.”

 

Gadget huffed what was supposed to be a laugh out of her vents. “I ALWAYS SAID TO MY MINING BUDDIES THAT IF I EVER MADE IT BIG, I WAS GOING TO BUY AN ART PIECE THAT NOBODY COULD FIGURE OUT WHAT IT MEANT AND ACT LIKE IT WAS SOMETHING DIFFERENT EVERY TIME SOMEONE COMMENTED ON IT. AND A HOLOVID SCREEN. SO I COULD WATCH THE NEWS AT MY APARTMENT.”

 

ReDouble burst into giggles, and after the laughter faded, he wiped his eyes and blinked. “Wait, you didn’t have a holovid screen?”

 

Gadget shook her helm. “HAD TO GO TO THE BAR DOWN THE STREET. A LOT OF PEOPLE DID. ALMOST NOBODY WAS RICH IN CARTHEX, REE. THE ONLY THING WE HAD TO OUR NAMES WAS THE DIRT.”

 

ReDouble looked shocked, like the concept was foreign to him. Gadget supposed it probably was. “Wow.”

 

“WHAT’S THE FIRST THING YOU’RE GOING TO DO WHEN YOU GET BACK HOME?”

 

At that, ReDouble’s face became pained. “I… can’t.”

 

Gadget tilted her helm. A question mark flashed on her visor. He took a breath, and she hesitantly reached out to pat his shoulder.

 

“Crestover Heights, Middle Crestover, Lower Crestover -- it’s all gone. Autobot command blew it off the face of the planet when they found high-level Decepticons were using it for something really nasty, Cap told me. Crestover doesn’t exist anymore. Any of it.”

 

Gadget beeped, finials flattening. To not have a home or a city anymore was a pain Gadget wasn’t privy to. As far as she knew, Carthex was still standing, grimy as ever. “I’M. SORRY.”

 

“It’s uh,” ReDouble sniffled, wiping sudden tears. “It’s okay. It was an incredible place. But it was really stratified. I didn’t notice it back then, but -- it’s in the names, even. I mean, Lower Crestover was known as ‘the poor mech’s Vos’. Both because its inhabitants fell well below the poverty line and it was just considered a cheap knockoff.”

 

Gadget nodded along, not sure what to say. “DID YOU EVER GO THERE?”

 

“Uh, yeah, a lot, actually. I’d go visit Capacitor and uh,” ReDouble coughed again, and his eyes darted around. His voice hushed. “her sparktwin. They lived in the same apartment at the time, in the bad part of town.”

 

Gadget tilted her helm. “SPARKTWIN?”

 

“You know,” ReDouble hissed. “Flux.”

 

The empurata beeped in surprise, an exclamation point coming up on her screen. “YOU KNOW MAJOR GENERAL FLUX OF THE DECEPTICONS?”

 

“Shh!” ReDouble hissed, leaning forwards to quiet her. “Not anymore! I used to, um… we were actually friends. I can’t believe she’s still a Con. She was so… antifascist. I really admired her, actually. I invited her and Cap to parties at my place, when I had them. Little soirèes, get-togethers, you know. Flux was less popular, I think. She just read a datapad in the corner with some food. And she didn’t tolerate any classism. And some of my friends were… difficult. Cap was a lot more popular because she tried really hard to fit in.”

  
  


\------------------

  
  


Dropthing sipped on his bottle of engex, leaned over the bar counter as he watched the game playing on TV. He was on a colony planet, where both organics and Cybertronians lived and visited. It was a trading colony. He was only here for a few months -- after his stay was up, he would catch a ride on some cargo ship or something, earn some money hiring himself for the crew, and be off to the next planet. That was how he’d made it this far. Every once in a while, his thoughts turned back to Heavylift. He… he missed her. It was only after he’d left Cybertron that he realized his grave mistake in not taking her with him. She was… the brightness in his life. Her absence left a hole in his spark that he couldn’t fill no matter how hard he tried or how many rebounders he had. The ache was all-consuming. But he ignored it as best he could and just sipped the engex. His travels took him far and wide, and deep in his spark he was hoping that they would take him to cross paths with her. By a sheer stroke of luck they would meet again, and this time it would be a fresh start, they could fall in love from the beginning.

 

This was a sports bar and grill, servicing organics and mechanicals alike. The crane had been here for about an hour already. Next to him, an organic that came up to his shoulder sat down next to him and flagged down the bartender for beetlegrass whiskey. They had four arms and a tail, long, clear whiskers flagging around their mouth. 

 

Dropthing took another swallow. "You come here often?"

 

"Huh?" The organic answered, speaking Neocybex. Its accent wasn't very good, but no organic could truly emulate certain sounds. "Oh. Yeah, it's a regular hangout. They've got good whiskey. And they've always got the game on. You?"

 

"I'm just passing through," Dropthing shrugged. The air was warm, his cheeks warming to accommodate. He had a pleasant buzz going, but not enough that he wasn't lucid. Next to them, a big war machine bot picked up the TV remote from behind the counter and flicked the channel to the intergalactic news. A bit disappointed, Dropthing watched anyways. It was a news report about a manhunt. A wanted criminal, named the Modesty Rapist. Dropthing kept his eyes trained on the broadcast, expression unreadable as he took it in. 

 

"Taking their panels?" The organic next to him queried. "You Cybertronians are fucked up, man."

 

"Yeah," Dropthing trailed off, focused on the report. Around him, the bar hummed with life. 

 

A few seats away, a slim bot with one arm sat. They had a femme-style frame, one of their arms missing from the shoulder socket. Some pushy bot was currently offering them a drink, and apparently didn't know the meaning of the word 'no'. Despite the smaller bot's attempts to remain polite but firm, the bigger mech wouldn't take no for an answer. They were starting to get aggressive, and Dropthing stood up. "Excuse me for a moment."

 

The crane set his bottle of engex down, hand cold from the drink and the bottle sweat. Exventing, he strode over to the two, laying a hand on the bigger bot's shoulder. "Hey, bud?"

 

"What the fuck do you want?"

 

"It's… pretty clear they aren't interested, why don't you leave them alone?"

 

The bigger bot was some kind of cannon, Dropthing thought. He couldn't be sure. They sneered at him. "Back off. This is none of your business, dirt muncher."

 

"Hateful caste comments aside," Dropthing led, "you really should leave this bot alone. You've made your point. Buying them a drink is very generous and all, but they don't want it. Perhaps you should take a hint."

 

The bigger mech looked to the crane, and then the smallest bot. They looked nervous, scared almost, and Dropthing felt his convictions swell. He stared down the cannon, frowning a little. Finally, the biggest mech snorted, turning away. "Fine. Fucking bitch. You're ugly anyways. Maybe get your fucking arm replaced."

 

After vigilantly watching to see whether the aggressor was gone for good, Dropthing turned back to the smaller bot. "Hey. You alright?"

 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Thank you for standing up to him." They extended their hand, and Dropthing shook it. "My name's Slip. I make pottery down the street."

 

"Wow, cool! My name's Liftclip. You wanna come sit over with me?"

 

"Yeah, actually!"

 

As they walked back to Dropthing's seat, Slip glanced up and down Dropthing's frame. "So, all gray, huh? That's an interesting aesthetic choice. You almost kind of look like...well, you almost kind of look like Megatron."

 

Dropthing chuckled goodnaturedly, glad he didn't have his Senate stripes on. "Yeah, he gave all us miner bots a bad name. Why should I change my frame? I was digging around in the dirt before he was spouting all that poetry. So, pottery, huh?"

 

"Oh! Yeah, stoneware and stuff has a great market where there are organics. Some Cybertronians buy it, but a lot of us see it as too fragile. I'm of the opinion that we should just learn how to be more careful, but that's mechanicals for you."

 

"Indeed," Dropthing agreed, nodding sagely, and turned the counter seat around next to his for the bot to sit. They thanked him and sank down into it, letting him turn them back to the counter. "Hey, you an engex brew fan?"

 

"Not usually, but they've got a decent one here," The femme answered, smiling. "I prefer that kind of stuff on tap."

 

"Oh, good choice," Dropthing answered, sitting in his own seat. "Can I get you one for your troubles?"

 

"Uh..."

 

"Hey, no big deal, I was just offering." Dropthing flashed an easy smile and balanced his chin in his fists, leaning into them. The potter chewed on their lip, fingers on their remaining hand drumming the counter, and Dropthing tried to reassure again. "Really, it's no problem. I wasn't trying to pressure."

 

"You know what? I think I'll just have a stein of something on tap. Thanks, Liftclip."

 

"Oh my god, of course! Bars can be stressful, you know? 'Specially if people don't know how to say no. So, how long have you lived on this planet?" Dropthing flagged the bartender down for an order and another bottle of his engex brew. 

 

"A million years or so. I left the Autobots after I lost my arm -- rust infection in a battle wound -- and I haven't had enough money to replace it. I've gotten so used to not having it that I think my pottery would be worse if I had another arm. I'd probably forget I even have one when I spin."

 

"So, you do that pottery with the wheel and everything?" Dropthing mimed spinning pottery on a wheel, and Slip beamed, thanking the bartender as a cold engex on tap was set down in front of her. She nodded, eyes closing as she smiled. They opened as she started talking.

 

"Yeah! I've got PTSD, it helps me with my anxiety. And it makes a good profit, once you get off the ground."

 

"Get off the ground, that's good," Dropthing laughed, and Slip joined him in giggling at the unintentional pun.

  
  


\----------------

  
  


Flux walked into the medibay, leaning against the doorway. Her GP cast a glance over his shoulder. He was CMO now, with Sunbeam having been demoted back from doctor to nurse once more. Flux suspected it was spite. Sunbeam was an excellent medic with an excellent bedside manner.

 

The CMO… was not. Cranky, dismissive and grumpy, Flux rarely took actual health problems to him, let alone her emotional problems. She missed being able to walk in with a bag of chips and start chatting. Haven had been cranky sometimes, sure, but… Kardyo was just mean, and he’d only gotten meaner after Haven’s passing. Flux had had the liberty of avoiding him when Haven was her GP, but not now.

 

She walked in for her general check up and knocked on the doorframe. The CMO, some sort of jet, looked over his shoulder and grunted. “Look who showed up. On the bed.”

 

Flux cleared her throat awkwardly and went over to a medical berth, and the CMO squawked. “Not that one, you overgrown flight engine! The other one!”

 

Feeling extremely self conscious, Flux delicately crossed to the one right next to it, and looked to the CMO for approval. He widened his eyes expectantly, one hand on his hip. “Well?”

 

Flux got on, feeling even more dumb. The CMO tutted to himself as he turned back to ready his tools, grumbling. “Large flight frames. Adaptus took your brains away to make room for bigger wings.”

 

As Flux was left gaping at that remark, Sunbeam scuttled over. He was an ambulance, with bright flashing colors and a sunny personality. He held a clipboard. “Major General, how are we feeling today?”

 

“Alright, Sunbeam, thank you,” Flux said, trying to smile at him. She was hyper aware of the CMO in the background. The nurse smiled back, clearly trying to put her at ease. His tinted visor glinted in the light, shielding his eyes from the overhead lights.

 

“That’s good, that’s good -- anything specific bothering you today?”

 

“Uh, not that I can think of,” Flux led, eyes cutting up and to the right. The CMO came over and began to inspect, scanning.

 

“You take terrible care of your frame, you dumb guzzler. How long has your t-cog been out of alignment?”

 

So that was why her tanks had been upset lately. Flux felt like a chastised sparkling, her cheeks flushing, and indignance boiling in her spark at the Lower Crestover-directed slur. People from Lower Crestover were called ‘guzzlers’ on account of how popular siphoning was. “Um… a week?”

 

“A week? Why didn't you come to me?”

 

Flux’s plating slimmed a little, as she felt chastised and small. Sunbeam broke in, clearly trying to help her out. “Well, if it wasn't bothering you too badly, you might've thought it would have fixed itself, right?”

 

“Right,” Flux agreed, grateful for the save. Sunbeam was a quick thinker.

 

“That’s totally understandable, but do try to get down here the next time that happens, okay? If you feel an ache or a burning right here-" Sunbeam laid a palm over her lower right abdomen, pressing firmly in a quick double beat, “-that means something’s going on with your t-cog, which means you probably need to see a doctor pretty promptly. It could be nothing, but we don't want to gamble with a t-cog, you know? A Major General of Air Transportation in the Decepticon Army kinda needs that. If the good doctor is out, I can check things for you.”

 

“Don’t know if you have the skill to do  _ that,” _ the CMO groused, crankily sifting through wires under plating to check them. Sunbeam glanced up, clearly hurt, but Kardyo kept speaking and perusing through wires. “Major General, did you get your wires all in a knot at the last Conclave meeting? These are atrocious.”

 

Sunbeam sighed through his nose, trying to hold it together. Flux just stayed quiet, grimacing at Sunbeam when the CMO’s back was turned. The ambulance shared her grimace, even widening his eyes to convey “yikes!” before clearing his throat. “So, did you hear that we’re getting another medic?”

 

“No, I didn’t,” Flux responded, interest piqued. Idle gossip was her favorite -- who was going where, who was coming and going. She didn’t like drama, but she loved idle happenings.

 

“Her name’s Skyline, I think? Or Havoc, I’m not sure. But she used to be a Wrecker.”

 

“Stop distracting her,” the CMO snapped at Sunbeam, and the nurse was cowed immediately. Flux turned to him, having had just about enough of this. Kardyo seemed to just want a verbal punching dummy, and Flux wasn’t about to stand for it.

 

“Excuse me, I think he’s doing a perfectly fine job, and he’s certainly picked up what’s called a good bedside manner. I would be a lot more comfortable -- and less  _ distracted _ \-- if you got off of his backplates.”

 

“Surprised you don't get the shit beaten out of you with that attitude,” the CMO snarked. “Starscream says half of the things you do and I see him in here once a week, now.”

 

“Sir, please,” Sunbeam hissed, trying to beg reason. As the CMO opened his mouth to reply, the door slid open, and the shadow of fascism itself cast across the floor. His hawkish mask was cut through by two glittering red eyes, and they lighted on the CMO like laser scalpels. Tarn’s knuckles lightly rapped on the doorframe as his head tilted back so he could look down his nose. 

 

“Doctor? May I have a word with you, momentarily?”

 

The CMO didn’t seem very rattled, Flux noticed. “Nurse? Take over if you would. I won’t be long.”

 

The jet walked over to Tarn, where the two made no effort to go somewhere more private. Tarn appeared almost pleased to see him. “How are you?”

 

“Well, thank you. Yourself?” 

 

“Oh, you know. Busy.” The two talked in semi-hushed voices, leaned close to one another. Tarn’s red eyes were dim as if they were half-lidded behind the glass eyeholes of the mask. “I must ask -- have you seen Coolant of Iacon in this medibay lately, and if you have, what for?”

 

The CMO opened his mouth to answer, and Sunbeam squeaked. “Sir, doctor-patient confidentiality! I hardly think-”

 

“Quiet!” the CMO snapped, and Sunbeam flinched. Tarn hummed, shushing the CMO softly. 

 

“Please. I am reassured that such a vigilant medic is lending his skills to us here. Sunbeam of Tesaurus, correct?”

 

Sunbeam nodded timidly. The smile wasn’t visible behind Tarn’s mask, but all present could feel it. Flux felt her lip curl with her tanks. It wasn’t a very pleasant-feeling smile. It felt like a smile full of sharp teeth dripping with blood. “Such adherence to EPAA is admirable. I appreciate your consideration, but you needn’t worry, Nurse Sunbeam. EPAA  _ also _ states that doctor-patient confidentiality is null and void in the event of a crime. There’s no breach of ethics here for you to worry about.”

 

“What’s the crime?” Flux broke in, suspicious. “It has to be pretty serious to revoke that privilege, right? I remember that bill. We voted on revising it three centuries ago.”

 

“Like you would know, you hulking brute,” the CMO snapped irascibly. “This is none of your business.”

 

“Doctor, please,” Tarn chastised. “Those are hardly appropriate remarks to a comrade. Though, unfortunately Major General, that information  _ is _ classified, as also specified in the bill.”

 

Flux settled back, unable to say anything and let Sunbeam finish the check up. They both listened as the CMO forked over all the information Tarn needed. 

 

Flux walked into the medibay a week later for her follow-up about her t-cog. It was just Sunbeam on duty, apparently, and he fluttered over with a clipboard, smile on his face. “Hi, uh,” he glanced down at the clipboard in his hands and then back up at her, eyes sweeping over her frame rather than her face. “Major General! How are you today?”

 

“I’m well, and you?” 

 

“Oh, you know. The odd migraine or two, nothing too serious. Business as usual! That’s what they invented migraine medicine for. You’re here for your follow-up?”

 

“I sure am, is it just you today?”

 

“Yes sir!” the nurse beamed.

 

“Oh, good,” Flux whispered conspiratorially, and he giggled about it for a moment. Sunbeam patted a berth heartily. 

 

“Hop on up and we’ll get started. Have you been feeling any more pain?”

 

“Not really. Just a mild cramp here and there, almost like -- you know if you run too much and your side gets a weld in it?”

 

“Mhm, absolutely.” Sunbeam nodded as Flux got settled, and began checking her over with a scan. “Okay, your t-cog still looks a little funky, so I might have to go in and check it. Is that alright?”

 

Flux waved a hand, looking around. “Fine by me. Where’s the CMO?”

 

“Oh, he’s off shift somewhere. We’re getting that new medic today, though! She should, uh, be here soon. I think her name is… oh, gosh, what was it… I can’t remember. Cloudbreak? Um, Chaos? Ugh. I hate being all scrambled.”

 

Flux shrugged. “Well, I guess we’ll find out when she gets here, right?”

 

“That’s right! Gosh, you always find a way to look on the bright side. I love that. Good quality. Please keep it.”

 

They passed the next few minutes with pleasant chatter, and Flux marveled about how lovely the atmosphere was without the CMO.  “Quiet in here.”

 

“Oh! Uh, yeah. It’s nice to work without the doc breathing down my collar fairing. He bags on me all the time.”

 

“I noticed. Have you spoken to him about it?”

 

“I mean,” Sunbeam shrugged, frowning a little. “He’s not the best boss. He demoted me to nurse because of my prosopagnosia, among other things. I didn’t want to stir the pot, you know.”

 

“Of course, I completely understand. That’s horrific!”

 

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you let a Wrecker shoot you in the head. It’s not a big deal! Being nurse isn’t, uh, so terrible. It’s a nice-sounding word. I’ll be doctor again someday.”

 

Flux hummed her agreement, still frowning a little. “That’s against policy, though, isn’t it? What he did. I could speak to Megatron about it for you, if you’re not comfortable doing so?”

 

“Oh, no, thank you, that’s really generous, but… I think it’s against policy, but Kardyo and T-- hm.” Sunbeam cut himself off, shaking his head. “Not nice to gossip. My point is, there’s nobody looking for policy issues here.”

 

Flux snorted. Whatever she was about to say was cut off by the door being slammed open, and the CMO storming in. 

 

“I’m still off-shift,” he snapped tersely at Sunbeam, though there was an urgency to his words and deeds like Flux had never seen. It was as if someone had lit his engines on fire. He strode with purpose towards the back, and paused mid-step, looking over his shoulder. “I’m going to the back. Do not tell  _ anyone _ I am back there, do you understand, Nurse? If you do, you will  _ sorely _ regret it.”

 

Sunbeam timidly nodded. “Of c-course, Sir.”

 

“Good. Don’t spend all day chatting with your patients. Try to at least get them out before the end of the night.” And with that cutting quip, he was storming into the back room, slamming that door behind himself as well. Sunbeam got back to work, markedly more grim. He tried to keep his voice cheerful to salvage his stellar bedside manner.

 

“Well, Major General, I’m afraid I’m going to have to do something invasive. I’m going to have to take away this square of plating here to get to your t-cog, but it’s a simple cut and weld. I’m sure it’s nothing too serious, but we do want to make sure it doesn’t get worse. I’ll have you out of here in a giff, assuming all goes well. There’s no reason it shouldn’t.”

  
  


\----------------

  
  


Flux went under for that procedure, and Sunbeam worked quickly, mindful of the shuffling and muttering from the back room. He didn’t know what the CMO was doing back there, and he had no desire to stick his nose into it. Purposeful footsteps sounded from the outside hall, and the door flew open again. 

 

Sunbeam glanced up from displacing Flux’s t-cog to take a look. On a side note, he was pleasantly surprised by how well maintained it seemed to be. A small dent was causing the problems, but that was fixable without too much trouble. A deep crimson jet stood in the doorway, eyes alight like magma and feet shoulder-width apart. Their eyes scanned the medbay, and their thunderous frown deepened. Sunbeam froze where he stood, eyes wide behind his tinted visor. The softness of the light did nothing to soften her angles. And there were lots of them, starting with the gnarly ripped scar carved across her chest. The top corner tip of a snapped-off Autobrand was lodged deeply in the scar.

 

“Where in the  _ fuck _ is that limp-spiked, tin-winged excuse for a medic?”

 

“D-do you mean,” Sunbeam spoke up very timidly, “the CMO?”

 

They seemed to brush him off, or at least their ire didn’t increase when he spoke. It was a welcome respite from the CMO’s abuse. They kept searching, scouring for any sign of who they were looking for. “No, I know where the CMO is. I’m standing right here. Where’s the pathetic stylus-shover I’m replacing?”

 

“Oh!” Sunbeam exclaimed, even more nervous. “Are you, uh, the new medic? Um, right, um, um, Cloud-- um, Cloudbreaker right?”

 

“No,” She said, and didn’t elaborate. “Where’s the work shuffler?”

 

Sunbeam opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it. “He’s… um…. he’s… off-shift?” It was technically the truth, right? That kept both sides satisfied, right? He was answering this new CMO’s question and preserving the old CMO’s wishes. Compromise. Somehow, Sunbeam didn’t feel like either senior medic would feel that way.

 

“What’s his room number?” She snapped, looking around with a scowl.

 

“One… forty three?”

 

She stormed out, muttering to herself. Sunbeam hesitantly went back to the t-cog in his hands. “Gosh. Uh, so, I guess that’s my new boss? Gosh. Uh, oh boy.” He kept mumbling to the thing as he fixed the dents, carefully reinserting it and sterilizing his equipment to weld back on Flux’s plating. Within minutes, the new medic was back, and made a beeline for the back room. Sunbeam cringed, knowing that she’d be pissed with him for the misdirection and Kardyo would be pissed at him because the new medic had found him. He finished the last stroke of welding and put aside his tools, preparing to take Flux out of stasis.

 

The new medic opened the back door, and the ex (?) CMO squawked. Datapads clattered. The new CMO huffed out air through her vents. “What the fuck were you doing?”

 

“None of your business! You aren’t allowed back here anyways, I was organizing!”

 

Sunbeam crept over to investigate, and gasped. Dozens of files were currently being sanitized, and the ex-CMO was at the epicenter of the disaster. “Sir! What are you doing?”

 

“You little rat bastard,” he hissed, plating flaring. “You did this, didn’t you? It’s none of your fucking business, Nurse!”

 

“Is that any way to talk to your superior?” The new CMO barked out, cracking her knuckles. Kardyo glanced at her, eyes going wide in shock. 

 

“Superior?” He questioned, and then laughed a little. “No, no. You’ve got it all sideways. This one couldn’t do a weld if his life depended on it, he’s no doctor.  _ Nurse _ is generous. Perhaps   _ clerk _ would be more suitable.” The last part was hissed at Sunbeam, and the nurse flinched. First of all, he did a perfectly fine weld. He was doing quite a lot of them lately since Kardyo liked to fob off surgeries to him under the table so he could goof off.

 

“Yes,  _ superior!” _ The new CMO roared, voice booming. “You have been demoted to nurse as of right now, and I am promoting Sunbeam to medic. I did some investigating in the rumor mill before I got here, and the word on the street is you’re a washed-up stylus shover who foists paperwork. That shit doesn’t fly. Not in  _ my _ medibay.”

 

Sunbeam wanted to laugh. Instead, he settled for having his mouth hang open. Nobody had been so blatant with the ex-CMO before! It was refreshing (and terrifying). The ex-CMO glowered. “You  _ will _ regret this,” he hissed. “I have friends in high place-”

 

“Oh, boo fucking hoo, you suck important spike,” the new CMO mocked. “I don’t care.  _ Doctor _ Sunbeam, would you step out a moment? I’ll cover your shift.”

 

“I,” Sunbeam squeaked, lifting a finger, “I… have a patient?”

 

The CMO froze, and Sunbeam realized that she must have missed that in her furious search. “Take care of that, then, and then go off shift. The nurse and I can cover.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, chapter 9 already! what do y'all think is going to happen?


	10. Chagrin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dunedealer finds out Megatron doesn't value her as much as she thought, Flux and Megatron get into a public spat that gets ugly, Flux meets Major General Clout of Rodion and develops a little crush, and Capacitor escalates her abuse of Gadget. Haven finally goes through with switching sides from Decepticon to Autobot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers:**
> 
> **mentions of physical abuse when Megatron lashes out against Flux in paragraph 81 (counting single sentence paragraphs). ends in the same paragraph.**
> 
> **mentions of emotional abuse when Megatron further berates Flux in paragraph 121, starting from around the beginning. ends in paragraph 128. Discussion about the incident follows, but it's passing conversation.**
> 
> **if you need anything else tagged, please let me know!**

“Dunedealer,” Megatron called, summoning the dune buggy away from her group of friends. She sobered, leaving her drink at the table, and rushed over to walk with him down the hall. Lately she was nervous around him. He’d changed a lot. She knew an entitled ass when she saw one -- she used to be a pole dancer in Carthex. She’d seen her fair share. The hall lights flickered as she quick-marched to keep up with his strides. He held a datapad in one hand, and Dunedealer thought she saw someone disappear back into the corner that they passed. It was probably Virtue, the creep. He had this remarkable ability to fade into the background so thoroughly most people forgot he was there, and it freaked Dunedealer right out. 

 

“Yes, Lord Megatron?” She prompted, waiting for the orders as Megatron read the datapad. He hummed in acknowledgement.

 

“There’s an assignment for you,” he said, “One target this time. It’s vital this target is dead, Dunedealer. I cannot stress this enough. They are a warborn effort to combat our very own Phase Sixers and must be stopped -- at all costs. Kill any bystanders if they get in your way, but that target ends up dead -- do you understand?”

 

“Of course,” Dunedealer said, a bit edgy about the urgency under his tone. It set her tanks churning, but she ignored it. “Just uh, send me the specs and I’ll be on my merry way.”

 

“Done,” Megatron said, tapping at the datapad. Dunedealer received an info package moments afterwards. “Put a rush on this. I want it done as soon as possible, not a hitch. Understand? You’ll get a bonus if you pull it off.”

 

“Uh, of course, sir,” Dunedealer said, wondering just what was making him so agitated about it. “I’ll… I’ll head to my shuttle right away after I kiss Prax goodbye.”

 

Megatron grunted in agreement, nodding. His eyes were still rooted on the datapad as if it was feeding him a constant line of information. It probably was. Dunedealer waited a few more moments, walking with him before considering herself dismissed when he didn’t speak any more to her. She frowned, and peeled off, heading back to her and Praxaghora’s shared bunk room. Praxaghora was off shift, probably resting.

 

Dunedealer got to their door, and went in, noticing how Praxaghora was delicately asleep in her hammock, spider legs twitching as she dreamed. The dune buggy softened her steps accordingly and walked over, laying a hand on the spider’s shoulder and shaking gently. “Prax, sweetie. Wake up.”

 

The ex-Senator made a few cute grunts in her sleep and stirred, blue eyes sliding open. She beamed when she laid eyes on her conjunx’s face and cupped Dunedealer’s cheek in one hand, fingers fluttering.

 

“Hello,” she greeted, “I thought you were out with some friends?”

 

“I just got an assignment,” Dunedealer sighed, and Praxaghora frowned, wilting. Then her frown turned from despondent to puzzled, and her fingers skittered across her conjunx’s cheek again.

 

“You seem anxious about this one.”

 

“Not the job itself, it’s just… something’s off. He really wants a rush on it, it has to go off perfectly. Something’s up with this job. I dunno. I’m just gonna get it out of my way and come home and then we can snuggle.” Dunedealer kissed Praxaghora’s palm and then her forehead. “Sleep well, little spider. I’ll be back soon.”

 

With that, she left, heading straight to her shuttle and firing the engines up where the ship sat in the loading bay. Conure was next to her, in altmode with a couple other vanguard Generals. They were probably going out for another drunken loopdedoo flight when the ship passed by airspace in the next hour or two for supplies. Conure was a party mech, that was for sure -- but she was a good General, especially in times of crisis. Dunedealer just sat herself in the pilot’s chair and cleared herself for takeoff, speeding down the runway as Conure whooped and whistled for her to do a barrel roll. She didn’t.

 

It took a solid week of flying, but she got to the planet, touching down several miles away from the site so as not to draw attention. She backed the hovering shuttle into a cave, the field around her wide and expansive with crags and crevices everywhere. Civilization -- and her target -- was a good few miles’ worth of hard, fast, desert driving. Perfect. She transformed and took off once her ship was parked, antenna whipping in the wind as she tore down tracts of sand. City greeted her after an hour or two, and she assimilated, weaving through traffic and transforming when she got to her destination. She skittered into the back and took the back way into the building. It looked like an apartment. Dunedealer’s money was on some sort of protection program, hiding in plain sight. She scaled the stairs until she got to the specified floor. 

 

It was… empty. The whole floor had been booked apparently, but no one seemed to be occupying the rooms. She frowned, and turned off the light to the hall. At the end of the hall, light from in the room shone under the door and she flicked the hall light back on so as not to blow her approach. She drew her swords and kept her footsteps quiet, readying herself until --

 

She kicked in the door, already slicing, and took down one bot on entry. The other one fled and she gave chase, vaulting tables, couches and countertops as the fled to an interior room. She tackled them in the kitchen and dispatched them with ease, standing to look around. Neither of them had been her target -- her scanner on her HUD would let her know when she found the target. In the interior room her second victim had been running to, familiar binary wailing picked up. Dunedealer’s plating puffed up. She knew a sparkling when she heard one!

 

She dropped her swords and rushed into the other room, panic seizing her. A cursory look around the nursery and she went over to the crib, gently scooping the protoform into her arms and shushing it, bouncing her upper body. There was no one else in the building, at least not on this floor. Had she gotten the wrong floor? The baby gurgled as it calmed and picked at the sand in her treads, cooing. She kissed its little head and rocked it from side to side, relaxing into the feeling of having a protoform in her arms again. God, she missed this. She missed doing this, and then Prax would walk in and take the baby and hold it for a little bit, glowing radiantly with affection -- and then their two friends might come to take over, or they would be out that day. Either way, it was a simple life. A life without carnage. A life where she could nurture and foster. She hugged the sparkling a little tighter and desperately wished she could take it back with her.

 

Her HUD flashed an announcement and she pushed it away, closing her eyes to hold onto the moment a little longer. A comm from Megatron pulled her out of it.  **:Status update, please.:**

 

**:Two bystanders dispatched,:** she reported, bouncing the baby and delighting in its giggling. It really wasn’t stranger-shy at all! **:The only witness left is hardly a concern. Target still not found.:**

 

**:Dispatch the witness. They can’t know how this happened.:**

 

**:But sir, it’s only a protoform. It’s not even at the stage of being able to encode complex memories yet, let alone talking to Autobot authorities.:**

 

**:A protoform? That’s your target.:**

 

**:...What? Call me.:**

 

**:No. I do not have time to coddle you. This is war. Ugly things must be done. Kill the sparkling and leave.:**

 

Dunedealer felt something raw pierce her, as she glanced at the sparkling and watched its little screen face for eyes flash happy signs. Its hands waved gleefully. True to Megatron’s word, her target sights flashed green for affirmative. This… really was the target. : **Sir, don’t you think we could take this one back with us and make it a Decepticon?:**

 

**:Perhaps, but I don’t have time for baby-raising. This takes the threat of a Phase-Sixer counterbalance off the table entirely. Are you up to the task?:**

 

There was a threat in that question. Dunedealer put her head down, holding the baby a little tighter.  **:Of course, sir.:**

 

**:Good. Return when it’s done.:**

 

**:Yes, Lord Megatron.:** Dunedealer cut the comms, balancing the baby on her hip and rushing to pick up her swords, sheathing them. Then, it was back to the nursery, where she picked up and subspaced protoform supplies and a couple of toys. After that, she laid the baby back in the crib and swaddled it tightly in a blanket, picking up the cooing, happy little wad of blankets and soft metal to spirit it away out of the fire escape. She rushed back to her ship as the sun was going down and packed herself and the baby onto the shuttle, spark pounding. There was no way she could kill a sparkling. It had done no wrong, committed no crime, deserved no punishment. It just needed a home, far from this star system and far from Megatron. She turned up her engines to max and sped off, searching for any remote planet that had the resources to raise a Cybertronian. After a couple days of flying (and comming Megatron that the deed was done before night fully fell when she took off) she found an organic-mechanical planet where both lived in peace. She touched down, and rushed the baby into town in the dead of night, throwing a cloak on to disguise herself. The baby was asleep, having been fed and sung a lullaby not thirty minutes ago. Dundedealer breezed up to the door of a local boarding school and pounded on the door, leaving the protoform on the stoop before fleeing as fast as she could.

 

Her flight back was long and arduous, with Dunedealer barely restricting herself from biting the paint off of her fingertips. That had not been a good idea… but the dune buggy couldn’t bring herself to do anything else. She reported in to Megatron upon arriving back at the Nemesis. His red eyes burned into her.

 

“So you had some trouble with that one.”

 

“You know me, sir,” she laughed nervously, “Got a soft spot for sparklings. But the job’s done. You won’t be hearing from that baby anytime soon. Or ever.”

 

“Good. The bonus will be on its way.” Megatron said, dismissing her, but something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong. Dunedealer could feel it in her tanks. Something was DJD wrong, she just knew. It was in the way he signed off on the datapad in his hands, and the way that he looked at her as she started to leave. Whether he knew about her treason or not, he’d apparently decided her hesitation was enough. So Dunedealer kept herself casual as she left, fear pumping through her, and rushed back to her room as soon as she was out of sight. Praxaghora was waiting with a smile and a kiss, but Dunedealer pushed her away.

 

“I have to go,” she said urgently, looking around to make sure they were really alone -- even though it was their room. “Prax, I have to go.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Praxaghora asked with urgency, fingers flying. “What’s the matter?”

 

“I’m on the List, I can smell it,” the dune buggy hissed, and Praxaghora gasped quietly. “I don’t want to get you in trouble but… but I have to go. This last assignment just -- it all imploded and I don’t want to die and I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m making a run for it. Now.”

 

“I’m helping you,” the ex-Senator said, and wouldn’t hear any arguments to the contrary. She helped Dunedealer pack essentials and rushed her away to the loading dock, seeing her off with a kiss. 

 

Watching her conjunx speed away in what was in all likelihood a doomed journey was one of the worst moments of Praxaghora’s life. In the following days, the DJD came to the base. The brought Praxaghora in for questioning almost immediately.

 

The ex-Senator walked into the makeshift interrogation room, nervous. Tarn sat behind a table, and Kaon stood against the wall behind him, empty eye sockets chilling. There was a chair directly across from Tarn. Praxaghora took it.

 

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” Tarn drawled, leaning back in his chair and propping an elbow on the table to wave his hand around. “I think we’re both not too keen on being here, so I’ll cut to the chase. You were last seen helping your conjunx into her shuttle. Were you aware that she was not going out on routine business and in fact, deserting the army?”

 

Praxaghora emphatically shook her head, gesturing to her mouth and then her hand before raising her eye ridges. Tarn let out a little “ah.” “Chirolinguistics, I presume? I’m afraid I’m not very well versed in it. But Kaon is our communications director. I’m sure he would be more than happy to translate. Kaon? If you would be so kind as to help the esteemed Lieutenant get her point across.”

 

Kaon unglued himself from the wall and uncrossed his arms, walking over with a decisively slow gait that made Praxaghora swallow. Tarn tilted his helm. “Nervous, Lieutenant?”

 

Praxaghora didn’t answer, laying a hand on Kaon’s extended one. “Dunedealer told me that she had an assignment in the Bytrix quadrant. I had no idea she was lying, I swear. I mean, I knew something was off, but I just thought she was tired, or cranky. I tried to make her stay and rest but she was adamant about leaving. Now I see why.”

 

“Indeed,” Tarn said, nodding along. He glanced up at Kaon and they shared a moment. “Is there anything else you can remember about her affect, Lieutenant Praxaghora? Perhaps something she said, something she did?”

 

“She was being unusually er -- passionate,” Praxaghora hedged, thinking about the kisses they shared before Dunedealer had to leave. “I just thought it was because her previous mission was stressful and we hadn’t seen each other in a while.”

 

“Mhmm. I see. Thank you, Lieutenant, that will be all.”

 

Praxaghora frowned, and then glanced up at Kaon and back to Tarn. “You’re… sure? You don’t need anything else?”

 

“No, I think we have everything we need,” Tarn said, red eyes cutting up to her. Praxaghora swallowed again and inclined her head before withdrawing her hand from Kaon’s. It was time for her to follow in Dunedealer’s footsteps and make a quick escape. There was a shuttle she could steal in loading deck 5 and she could be out of here before anyone knew what was happening. She didn’t like the air in the room. It was too constricting, as if this had just been for show. “There’s a Conclave meeting in an hour, and we wouldn’t want to make you late.”

 

“Thank you for your consideration,” Praxaghora added, before snatching her hand away from Kaon’s and hurrying out. One of her guards caught up with her, trailing along behind. “Hey, you alright?” 

 

“I’m leaving,” she told them, “Don’t cover for me, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“No way,” the guard said fiercely, grabbing her wrist. “My friend used to do aesthetic changes and I can take your paint. It can be done in minutes. You’re not talking me out of this. Like hell we’re letting the DJD get to you.”

 

Praxaghora sighed, pursing her lips, before looking around and nodding. The two split off in the hall,  Praxaghora creeping into a more secluded hallway to make her way into the ventilation system. She transformed, eight dainty legs clicking against the metal walls as she climbed in, putting on the grate after herself. After that she simply skittered away to her room, grabbing a cloak to throw over herself to hide her frame. After the cloak she simply exited through the vents again and emerged well away from her room, scurrying down to loading dock five. 

  
  


\------------

  
  


The Conclave was getting to be a nightmare.

 

Flux was now certain that Megatron wanted absolute power. It was in everything he did. Subtle erosions of the people’s power were almost expected. Flux went into sessions dreading the battles she would have to fight more than she dreaded the actual battlefield. This erosion of power was evidenced by Megatron’s declaration that storming out was no longer a viable way to register a complaint. Before, it had been; if one was particularly opposed to something, they could leave the meeting early registering their complaint on the way out and it would be written down as a higher degree of complaint than if they had just raised an objection. But now…

 

Flux shook her head, pursing her lips as she bounced her leg. Praxaghora was absent today, it seemed. Dunedealer had made a run for it only days prior and Flux couldn’t say she blamed either one of them. A more cowardly part of herself told her that she should follow them. The rest of her insisted that she stay and fight, in both the war and fight Megatron’s tyrannical rulings -- death always before silence.

 

“First matter on the docket,” Megatron read off, eyes staring down at the datapad in his hand. His cloak hung pinned to both shoulders as he continued, and the two Decepticon badge fibula pins winked at the crowd as if they knew something terribly juicy. Starscream was preening in a chair close to the front, almost as if to show off for Megatron in a decidedly negative way -- a sort of “look at me, I’m prettier and better than you”. It was not the first time he’d behaved this way, not by a long shot. Megatron ignored him. “From today onwards, to minimize disruption and streamline proceedings, I would ask that everyone please remain seated for the duration of the meeting. There will be no punishment for leaving in protest, but it will be registered as an absence rather than a complaint.”

 

Flux’s eyes narrowed, and she stood. All eyes in the spacious room turned to her. A muffled cough or two rang out. It seemed to echo in the grand hall as the Decepticon constellation in the ceiling watched over them all. If it had emotions, Flux would have said it looked disappointed. “I would like to register my hesitations, my liege.”

 

“Noted.” Megatron seemed to want to move on, but Flux wouldn’t let him. 

 

“The punishment for having more than ten absences a quarter is to be released from the Conclave, am I correct?”

 

Megatron let the datapad in his hand drop a little with his arm, as he pondered this. “Yes. Do you not find that reasonable, Major General?”

 

“I find that rule itself reasonable, but I think that labeling a leave of protest an absence can be used in unsettling ways. To be blunt, I find myself with the concerns that our right to register complaints is being infringed upon.”

 

“Complaints are to be registered verbally from now on,” Megatron said, more firmly. “We cannot have people leaving left and right.”

 

“Perhaps people wouldn’t leave left and right if we could be diplomatic about things,” Flux retorted, eyeing him. He recoiled, mouth falling open slightly at her bite as his eye ridges flew up. Hushed murmurings caught on like wildfire. Flux kept speaking anyways, keeping her voice firm. “Also, verbal complaints are more easily written over and dismissed -- to me, this feels like a  _ blatant _ stifling of dissent.”

 

That got Megatron even more agitated, his plating rising as his red eyes burned hatefully. “How dare you, Major General. Do you not agree that the system needs to be organized, or would you rather live in inefficiency -- and what about  _ your _ many attempts to shout down dissenters of your own ideals in the past?”

 

“I’m not going to legitimize whataboutisms from someone who’s supposed to be above that,” Flux countered with a snappish tone, “and while I  _ do _ agree that the process needs to be organized, I think it’s streamlining things for exactly one person --  _ you. _ What next -- will all of our complaints with your ideas have to be submitted in writing, so that they may be more conveniently  _ lost?” _

 

Gasps ripped through the hall and the room went deadly silent. Starscream’s hand drifted to cover his mouth, likely so Megatron couldn’t see the viciously delighted smile. Flux just stared Megatron down, refusing to give in. Two could play this no-compromise game. Flux could be just as stubborn as her commander.

 

“ _ If _ you wish to make an electronic submission,” Megatron said through subtly gritted dentals, “there is nothing stopping you.”

 

“That is not even  _ remotely _ the point! I-”

 

“Sit down, Major General,” Megatron dismissed strongly, cutting her off, and stared her down. She glowered at him. He glared back. The room was deathly silent, nary a vent intaken.

 

“I will not ask you again,” Megatron said, voice dangerous.  _ “Sit. Down.” _

 

With a soft creak of her chair, Flux sat slowly, a hearty scowl upon her face as her yellow eyes burned with righteous anger. “Well, then, cast the vote,” she spat, throwing a hand out. It ended its journey by falling into her lap with a dissatisfied  _ clunk. _

 

“This is not a voting matter. It was simply an announcement.”

 

“I raise an objection to  _ that!” _ Flux cried, standing immediately again. “You’re not even going to allow us a  _ vote?  _ The Conclave’s purpose is not to make announcements -- it’s to discuss and vote upon issues that need to be addressed so we all reach an agreeable consensus to perform our duty and privilege as representatives for the people! If you want to make an announcement, use the intercomm system!”

 

“Do not presume to tell me how my own faction should work,” Megatron snarled. “I-”

 

“All who wish to go through with the stifling of their freedom of speech say ‘aye’!” Flux called thunderously, thrusting her fist into the air. As a member of the Conclave, she had the power to take a vote herself, but commandeering one like this -- and on something that was not intended to be voted upon, no less -- was considered taboo. Flux didn’t let that sway her, and scanned the crowd. Her supporters had already cast their vote as ‘nay’. But the rest of the optics in the crowd were disinterested or irritated at best, and outright hateful at worst. A few even said “aye” with several shouting that the cargo plane was just being childish. Flux let her fist drop. The ‘nays’ were not enough to balance a complete non-vote and the ayes. This was a crushing, humiliating defeat, and everyone in the room knew it. Flux had already been taken down several pegs and then some, and her attempt to rally her fellow officers had done her standing no favors.

 

Megatron let the silence hang a little longer. “It seems you are not as influential as you’d like to be. I cast my vote as ‘aye’ -- and that tips the scale. Now sit down, Major General, before I cite you for insubordination. On the matter of leaves of protest being counted as absences, the ayes have it. It is in effect immediately.”

 

Flux sat, fuming so hard her audials whistled. Her spark was filled with restless anger and she fidgeted a bit in an attempt to relieve it. This was a mistake. She only had one absence this quarter; so she stood back up, sweeping her cape so it didn’t catch on her fellow members’ feet. “Well, you’d better mark me down as an absence, my liege!”

 

Megatron shouted after her that this was going on her record as insubordination, but she just kept walking. The Decepticon leader sought her out after the meeting, and found her in the hallway, catching up to her. She’d been storming about the halls to blow off steam, not even returning to her room to hang up her cape. The walk was helping clear her head, so that was a plus -- so when she saw Megatron, she felt a little less fury in her spark. He didn’t look as amicable. “Major General, if you would -- I need to speak to you.”

 

“Of course.” While she was still a little miffed from the Conclave meeting, Flux wasn’t the type of person to hold grudges, and she’d never considered Conclave arguments personal. After all, they were there to debate -- but she understood how people might get offended with her vehemency. It had happened before. As he ushered her into a side hall, presumably for privacy, she sighed. “Look, I do want to apologize for how heated things got in there -- I know you’re trying to make things more efficient, but I just have a really bad feeling in my tanks about-!”

 

Megatron lunged for her seemingly out of the blue, fingers wrapping around her throat plating and pinning her to the wall as he squeezed,  _ hard _ . It cut off her apology with a terrible choking sound, nearly crushing her throat, and she clawed at his optics in a panicked attempt to free herself. She jabbed at his eyes with extreme prejudice, fingertips hitting glass. They flew closed to shut out Flux’s prying fingers, and the cargo plane’s helm pounded. Megatron cried out and retreated, hand over his eyes, and Flux doubled over, wheezing as she massaged her throat. She straightened first, all of her plating puffing out to inflate her already massive size as Megatron scrubbed his watering optics. Her spark pounded and her audials rang, a high pitched screaming that made everything feel fuzzy. Her vents were screeching and her optic feed had started to fritz, but in the corner of her mind she noticed that Megatron’s knuckles were scuffed, and it wasn’t her shade of paint. “Don’t you  _ ever,” _ she hissed, “touch me like that again,  _ do you understand me?”  _

 

Megatron wiped a last bit of heavily welling optic fluid away and scowled. Whatever intimidation attempt he had been going for had died in his mouth, and Flux wasn’t about to stick around to hear it -- she just harrumphed and resumed her previous journey, leaving him behind as she stormed away. Rubbing her sore throat cables, she decided it was best to head to the medibay. Part of her was still in shock. Her commander -- someone she trusted deep in her spark, even if he was making so many terrible mistakes -- had just tried to hurt her. Really hurt her. Confusion and pain leached into her spark and she shoved it aside, quickening her pace to the medibay.

 

When she got there, Starscream was already on a berth, with Sunbeam fussing over him. His upper body was without dent or scratch, newly fixed, but his legs were a mangled mess. Flux walked over, forgetting entirely about her own throat. She prayed that Megatron hadn’t taken his ire out on the Seeker because of her behavior in the meeting, but she knew that was a slim chance. “Starscream! Are you alright?”

 

Starscream didn't look at her. “Fine.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“That looks really bad, are you sure you’re okay?”

 

“I said I’m fine!”

 

Flux frowned a little, and reached into her subspace, pulling out a candied energon bar. She liked to carry at least a little something sweet on her. One never knew when something like that came in handy. “Hey. You still like sweet stuff, right?”

 

Starscream huffed. “Yeah, what for?”

 

“Here.” Flux reached out to gently upturn one of his hands, murmuring an apology when he flinched, fingers shaking. “Take this. I hope you feel better soon, alright?”

 

“...thanks. What happened to your throat?”

 

“Oh, you know,” Flux brushed aside, laughing uncomfortably, and a knowing look came into Starscream’s eyes. “Ah, things still get heated in the Conclave. You were uh, there.”

 

“Megatron got angry with you, didn’t he,” the Seeker rasped, quieter than usual. Flux’s eyes cut to the door, almost as if she was expecting the warlord to appear there. Starscream continued. “He’s never hurt you before. Physically.”

 

“Yeah. Well. Um.” Flux coughed awkwardly, as Sunbeam went to fetch supplies in a bid to give them some space, quiet and somber. “I nearly put his eyes out. Told him never to touch me like that again.”

 

Starscream squawked out a single, ugly, self-satisfied “HA!” and Flux flinched, laughing along nervously. As Starscream opened his mouth to continue, the new CMO, who was waiting by the berth furthest to the right, whistled. 

 

“Hey! Jabberjaw! You, in the cape. Are you in my medibay to chat, or what?”

 

Flux turned. “Oh! Sorry, uh, I got distracted. I actually have an injury, um, is that okay-?”

 

The CMO relaxed, patting the berth in front of her. “Yeah. Come on over, I’ll take care of you.”

 

Flux had heard of her. She'd been here a while, and already made a name for herself as an angry bitch. Flux had also heard two names used for her, so she asked as she came over; “Oh, okay! Uh, so -- hope you feel better, Starscream, by the way -- so, is it Skyline or Havoc?” 

 

“Havoc,” the medic snapped, as Flux climbed on. “Don’t  _ ever _ call me Skyline.”

 

“Havoc, got it,” Flux said, and craned her head up for the doctor to look at. “So, uh, yeah.”

 

“Primus,” Havoc muttered, “who’d you piss off?”

 

“Bit of a long story,” Flux laughed off, uncomfortable. “He’s got sore optics anyways.”

 

“Uh huh. Flux, right? I’ve heard of you.”

 

“Yeah, that's me. Don't laugh too hard.” she chuckled nervously after the self-deprecating joke, and bowed her helm, fingers twiddling. Now that she was away from stress and danger, the reality of the situation hit her. She felt guilty for hurting Megatron; she had been making herself so difficult in the Conclave lately that his temper had likely just boiled over. War was hard on everybody.

 

Havoc tilted her head back up by the chinpiece. “Helm up, please, I need to finish checking this out. Does this happen often?”

 

“No, the person -- he’s never done this to me before. It’s kind of my fault.”

 

“I don't really care whose fault it is right now, “ Havoc deadpanned, “I just care about fixing you. There’s some denting and bruising, but otherwise, you'll be fine. I can't do much but prescribe some painkillers and tell you to be gentle with yourself. Make sure you stay out of trouble, you know.”

 

“Okay,” Flux mumbled, looking away. She should apologize. If she left quickly, she could catch Megatron in his quarters. Havoc paused a moment from typing up a treatment plan.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Don’t beat yourself up so much. It’ll be fine. Oh, and by the way, I heard some pretty good things about you.”

 

“Oh,” Flux laughed, a little nervously, “You must’ve been speaking to one of my unit members, then. I’m not very popular anywhere else. But thank you, Doctor.” Haven finished the plan with a keystroke and went to the dispensary, grabbing a pill bottle and handing it over. 

 

“Take these twice a day, and if it still hurts in a week come back,” she said, “and Flux? Putting yourself down isn’t a good look for you. Cut it out.”

 

Flux ducked her head, nodding. She sheepishly took the medicine and thanked the medic again, leaving with her metaphorical tail between her legs. As she left she heard Starscream snickering to himself. 

 

“That has to be the most insensitive attempt at a cheer-up I’ve ever heard,” he goaded Havoc, and then the doors shut. Flux found herself at Megatron’s door after what felt like decades of walking, spark fluttering anxiously. She raised her fist and forced herself to knock gently. Seconds passed, and the warlord opened the door, face stormy. Flux smiled in what she hoped was an appealing, forgivable gesture. “Hey, you.”

 

She wound up to gently and lightly sock his shoulder, but he moved so that it fell flat. Flux ducked her helm, nodding. “I deserved that.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Just wanted to apologize,” Flux mumbled, scuffing the ground with one foot, and wondering why she was rolling over and showing her belly. It wasn’t like her. A part of her insisted that she hadn’t even been in the wrong, but another part of her insisted that she had to have been or Megatron wouldn’t be acting this way. The last part of her was just so confused and more than a little hurt and ashamed. 

 

Megatron eyed her, and stepped aside to let her in. She murmured thanks and sidled by, taking a deep breath as she took in his decor. Barren, as per usual. It seemed colder than usual, though. Flux’s beginnings in poverty had turned her into a hoarder of anything she could find, but never until now had she noticed how stark the difference between herself and Megatron really was. “Um… I wanted to apologize for today. I was really ugly, and I’m sorry. You don't deserve that.”

 

Megatron grunted in reply, and the lack of acknowledgement hurt Flux even more. Frustrated again, she turned around to him, letting her feelings get the better of her. “Is that all you have to say?”

 

“What, are you expecting me to accept?” Megatron snapped, and Flux flinched back, guilt spearing her again. Stupid… that had been a stupid thing to say.

 

“Of course not! But-"

 

“Primus, it’s always a ‘but’ with you, isn’t it,” Megatron sighed dramatically, putting a hand over his eyes. “What now? But I’m a bad leader? A bad friend?”

 

“No, no!” Flux rushed to assure in a panic, coming a little closer. Her face felt scorching, but her limbs felt like ice, and she felt queasy. “No, that’s not what I meant at all! I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to make things worse!” 

 

Megatron seemed to take that, and grumbled noncommittally. “You’ve got a mission to deliver some supplies to a base a week out. I don't want to see you again until after it’s done. Understand?”

 

Flux cringed back, molten heat bubbling up from her optics and cascading down her cheeks. She scrubbed it away, but no matter how fast she wiped, more took its place. Megatron waved it off in disgust. “And stop crying. You’re an officer, not a newframe. Get out. I'll think about your apology.” 

 

Wordlessly, Flux fled from Megatron’s quarters like she had been shamefully banished. She spent the next week -- and the mission, gently brushing aside concern from her subordinates -- thinking about what she had done, and wound up at Megatron’s door again after the mission was complete. With a shaking hand, she knocked. When Megatron opened the door, she was wringing her hands. She cleared her throat, trying to look him in the eye. “Mission successful.”

 

Megatron offered her a smile. “Good. Knew you could do it. Come in and talk, why don't you? I’ve got some time.”

 

Flux followed him in, and sat with him at the table. She was quiet, and Megatron picked up the conversation. “My apologies about last week. I wasn’t having a good day.”

 

“Me either,” Flux agreed. “I just wish you hadn’t spoken so cruelly.”

 

“Well, Flux, you did nearly just put my eyes out,” Megatron chastised, “I had to go to the medbay after you left. One was cracked.”

 

“Are you alright?” Flux rushed to ascertain, ignoring the pang of shame. She eased it by trying to comfort. “Is it okay now?”

 

“It’s fine now, thank you for asking. But enough about last week. I actually have an idea I want to run by you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“As you're well aware by now, most of my other Major Generals have their own ships. I suppose… I’ve been sentimental in keeping you so close, but it takes you nearly twice as long to get to certain locations. Not through fault of your own, of course. As per usual, your personal efficiency is without equal.”

 

Flux gaped. “Are you… offering my units and I a ship?”

 

“I am. Do you accept?”

 

Flux squealed, beaming, and quashed the part of her that told her he was just doing this to get rid of her without martyring her. “Yes! Yes, a hundred times yes!” she rushed forwards to hug him, unable to stop smiling. Her own ship was such a high honor! She would have room to properly care for and attend to her units, as well as get missions done in a much more timely fashion. She’d have to make the announcement today.

 

Megatron accepted the hug after a moment, and chuckled a little when they separated. “Good, I’m glad to hear that. Er, your status on the Conclave might present a problem.”

 

Flux’s smile faded. “How so?”

 

“Well, if you’re three quadrants away, I’m not really sure how you can make a meeting.”

 

“Oh, I’ll find a way,” Flux assured, steamrolling right over the notion. “Don’t you worry about that. Remember Clout? She sits in the gallery across from me, front row. She and her units have their own ship and she still makes meetings.”

 

Megatron smiled again, but it was a little tight now. “Indeed. Maybe you could get some advice from her on how she does it. There’s shore leave in a week, and the planet we’re going to has one of the best bars in the quadrant; she’ll probably be there. This idea for a ship is  _ very _ preliminary, Flux. I just wanted to know if you’d be amenable. I'm glad you are.”

  
  


\------------------

  
  


“Sooo, don’t get me wrong, I’m ecstatic you’re partying with the rest of us,” Conure led, feather-like sensory crest fluttering as her helm tilted a little. Her birdlike legs delicately covered long strides to keep with Flux’s brisk walk, as the cargo plane led the group down the street to the bar. This was a popular shore leave planet, and Flux nodded and gave passing salutes back to lower-ranked officials that saluted as they walked by. Autobots saw them coming from down the street and crossed blocks. There wasn’t supposed to be any fighting on shore leave planets, but one could never be too careful. Conure’s sensory crest fluttered again, metal quills quivering with all of the input they were getting, paint nanites flushed with color. “But, what’s the deal? I’m not saying you don’t hang out with us, you totally do, but uh, bars? Usually you’re just our drinks chaperone.”

 

“I am  _ not _ a chaperone,” Flux said, fake huffily, trying not to smile. “I wish I was, because you need one, party bird. But I’m not a chaperone. It’s a special occasion. I’m making an announcement later. Drinks are good for morale.”

 

As she spoke, a crowd of drunken Autobots stumbled out of a club the group was passing. They looked young, barely a century for the oldest. The youngest stumbled directly into Flux’s path and fell against her, stopping her in her tracks. Her units stopped behind her as well, craning their helms to see what the holdup was. Conure fell quiet, a little wary. The young Autobot froze, casting wide eyes up to Flux’s face, and started to tremble, so drunk that a little excess fuel dribbled from his waste tanks. His vents fogged out puffs of heated air meeting the cold atmosphere, but they dwindled to a terrified stop as he looked up at her. Flux remained calm and neutral, placing a gentle hand on his arm to nudge him aside. “Watch where you’re going, please.”

 

The tiny soldier whimpered, and stumbled with her gentle pushing, back over to his friends. As her hand left his shoulder, Flux gave a tiny little smile to show she didn’t mean any harm, and turned back to where she was going, beginning to walk again. Conure trotted bouncily beside her, momentarily quiet, and Carapace approached Flux’s other side, holding up a claw. “You could have been a little more rough. You know you’re too nice.”

 

Flux shrugged. “It’s a shore leave planet. It’s a truce. And they were practically newframes. I didn’t see any reason to get violent.”

 

Ce acknowledged this, and fell silent as Conure picked up her chatter. “Anyways what I was saying, why this bar? I mean, it’s known for being a decently quiet one but it’s a bar. You don’t like party stuff.”

 

“Conure, please,” Flux chuckled, “it’s not all about me.”

 

Shouting from the back caught her attention, where a few... more  _ belligerent _ Autobots had started to tail them, screaming obscenities at some of Flux’s younger subordinates straggling along timidly. They had apparently misinterpreted Flux’s interaction with the other young Autobots, and were ready to fight about it. Immediately, the older Cons leapt into action, absorbing the young members into the fold and swaddling them in a bristling, protective wall of veteran Decepticon plating. Flux herself frowned thunderously and left her position at the front to quickly insert herself in the middle, standing tall and glowering down at the instigators. Her plating puffed up, and her wings tilted upwards from their slight downward slope to make her look even bigger. The Autobots stopped cold in their tracks, eyes casting up to her face, and it was nice to know that she still had it.

 

She narrowed her eyes. There was dead silence on the street all of a sudden, as faction members from both sides froze, watching acutely in the hopes that a fight wouldn’t break out. Tense seconds stretched like hours, and Flux cleared her throat. “This doesn’t have to get ugly. Let’s just all go our separate ways, why don’t we?”

 

“You shoved that guy back there,” The ringleader of this particular band of Autobots managed, and Flux was reminded of a time before Autobots and Decepticons, when she had visited ReDouble in Crestover Heights. A drunken mech had tripped in front of her, and she had been accused of pushing him just because of her alt-mode. A plane didn't fit in with cultured scientific-class mecha such as themselves, someone had claimed. 

 

She shook her head. “I only moved him out of my way. I didn’t intend to hurt him; this is a truce planet, and I uphold the rules that keep the peace just like anyone else. I suggest you move along. I don’t want to fight, but if you threaten my subordinates, I will.”

 

“Is there a problem here, General?” An older Autobot, likely these soldiers’ commander, strode quickly over, subtly sliding in front of his subordinates. Flux eyed him cautiously, and he her. 

 

“Not at the moment,” Flux said, slowly. “And it’s  _ Major _ General. My units and I would like to be left in peace, and will afford the same courtesy to you and yours. I was just assuring these mecha that while I don’t want to fight on a shore leave, if they continue to harass my unit members, I will.”

 

The commander frowned, crossing his arms. “You’re traveling in a big group. Surely you can see that’s threatening.”

 

“We aren’t marching in formation, or provoking anyone on the street,” Flux countered. “I’m just headed to a bar with my units. That’s not against the truce code.”

 

The mech sighed, glancing down at his folded arms before looking back into her eyes, a glittering blue to match fiery yellow. “Fine. The truce stands, for now. But watch yourselves, planet-killers.”

 

Flux nodded, and a few younger members from inside the crowd cried out at the jab. Flux glanced over her shoulder.  _ “Quiet!” _

 

They fell silent immediately, and Flux turned back to the commander, who scoffed. “You have them all scared into line, I see. You leave first. You’re bigger.”

 

Flux shook her helm. “You first. Your soldiers instigated.”

 

The commander growled, but turned to his charges. “Alright, you lot! Get moving, get out of here!”

 

His subordinates scrambled, drunkenly scattering away down the street, and he followed them with one last begrudging look. Flux snorted, eyes narrowing further, and he finally got going, trotting away after them. The cargo plane finally turned away as she saw his back plating vanish around a corner, and everyone on the street finally ex-vented. She turned to check over her units, eyes sweeping over individual faces in the crowd like a hawk. “Is everyone alright? Nobody got hurt?”

 

“We’re fine,” Someone piped up, and Flux nodded, skirting back around to the front.

 

“Let’s keep going, then. Just a couple more blocks.” As she turned to keep leading the way, Carapace edged up beside her. Cer giant mandible horns glinted in the low light, as the smaller mandibles in front of cer mouth clacked. 

 

“Well handled. I suppose you know that some would think that’s too soft of an approach?”

 

“Probably,” Flux shrugged, and ce nodded, intrigued, and listened as Flux continued. “but that Autobot was right. We are a very big group for a shore leave planet, and if a fight broke out, it would drag everyone into it. It just wasn't prudent, show of strength or not.”

 

Carapace hummed cer agreement and fell back into step, as Conure surged joyfully ahead, crowing with delight. “There it is!  _ Refinery Keg, _ here we come!”

 

Whooping and hollering, she ran ahead, and she was quickly followed by other members of the transportation vanguard, including the other two vanguard Generals. After a moment, General Regus, leader of Transportation Team One, cried out for them to wait up and took off after them, steps thundering, and General Oracle wasn’t far behind. Flux watched them go fondly, and chuckled as some of the newer recruits started to run, and then froze as if they remembered they had a commander. At their hesitant glances, Flux gently threw out a hand. “Well, it’s what we're here for, isn't it? Go ahead.”

 

The young Cons beamed and dashed forwards, attempting to race each other. Soon, it was just General Carapace and Flux, still keeping their measured stroll. Snow fell from the sky to join an already thick blanket on the ground, and it crunched under their pedes satisfyingly. Flux watched one newframe pick up a handful and throw it at his friend as they screamed with laughter. “For some of them,” she murmured, still watching attentively, “it’s their first leave.”

 

“It is,” Carapace agreed, turning cer helm to look at Flux. “With you in command, I am certain it won't be their last.”

 

Flux pursed her lips, shaking her helm a little. “You don't know that. Nobody knows that.”

 

“No,” Carapace conceded, “they don't. But I do know  _ you, _ Sir. I have the utmost confidence. Come, it’s cold outside.”

 

“That’s my line,” Flux teased, smiling a little, but allowed Carapace to quicken their pace to a brisk stride until they reached the bar. It was a huge establishment, catering to all sorts of mechanical life. Flux found herself feeling a little lost, uneasiness prickling in the back of her helm. Instinctively, she began searching for a mostly-empty wall to sit near. There were a lot of people, and while she could certainly have fun here, it just wouldn't be in the thick of it. She could soak up all the fun atmosphere at a nice, mostly quiet table with a mild drink. Maybe do some idle peoplewatching, or read that datapad she’d brought along. 

 

Taking a breath, she strode over to one of the many counters, and leaned on the metal on one elbow. Whispers softened the air around her, as people from both factions took notice of her. The bartender was nonaligned. She waved at him with a little smile. “Evening. Cold out there, isn't it?”

 

“Definitely a bit chilly,” he agreed, and mirrored her pose on his side of the counter. “What can I get for the mighty Major General Flux?”

 

“Uh, just a menu for right now, if you please. It’s been a while since I’ve visited.”

 

She got a small datapad with a list of drinks, and flipped through them, attempting to decide. “Hey, barkeep?”

 

“Yeah?” he fluttered back over, a towel thrown over his shoulder. 

 

“How strong is the Tarnian Sunrise?”

 

“Oof, that's got a kick. Are you looking for that?”

 

“No, actually, I’m looking for something a little milder. I just wasn’t sure.”

 

“Mhm, mhm, well, we did change the menu recently. If you're looking for something mild, I’d recommend the Vosian Thermals. It’s soft, it’s sweet, it’s warmed, just a little spice… perfect for a night like this.” The barkeeper quirked an eyebrow and smirked. “Whaddya say?”

 

“I’ll take one, thanks,” Flux said, and transferred the shanix. She watched him make the drink. It was some sort of creamed energon drink, spiked with engex and with a dollop of whipped fuel on top. Finally, it was sprinkled with iron dust, and passed to her in a hearty, chipped mug. 

 

“One Vosian Thermals. Enjoy!”

 

“Thanks!” she took her mug and walked away from the counter, helm swivelling. People got out of her way as she walked, as she sipped the drink, marvelling at its taste. Stymied at the lack of seating where she preferred, she began to look for other options closer towards the middle. The music was loud, but not deafening. 

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

She looked towards the voice, and a couple of Cons sat at a two-person booth by the wall. “Hm?”

 

“Would you like our seat, Major General?”

 

“Oh! That’s very gracious of you, but there’s no need, I’m sure I can find somewhere,” she reassured, smiling. It was too late -- they were already getting up with their drinks, awestruck and amazed that she was in their presence.

 

“No, the honor is ours!” the other mech assured. “Is Megatron really as ferocious as everyone claims?”

 

“Yes,” Flux said without hesitation. “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out of a seat, you both were here first.”

 

“No, absolutely!” they chimed, gesturing for her to sit. She did, thanking them again, and flagged down a server. 

 

“Another of whatever they’re having, on me,” she ordered, and refused to hear their pleas that she didn't have to do that. Eventually, they wandered away with their drinks, smiling and chattering, and Flux watched them go. She lifted the mug to her mouth, and moaned quietly at how good the drink was. It settled low and warm in her tanks, warming her whole frame, and she closed her eyes to savor the sweetness. The iron dust had just the right tinge of spice, tickling her throat cabling on the way down. She shivered as the cold left her body, and opened her eyes, feeling much more relaxed after her moment of introspection. Conure was already into trouble, dancing on a stage further back with a drink in her hand. Several of her unit members cheered her on, chanting something. Regus was at another counter, doing what looked like some shots, and Carapace was beside them, rubbing their back when they started coughing.

 

A figure crossed in her vision, and Clout sat down across from her, huge frame squeezing into the booth. “Hey there. Flux, right? Megatron said you might be here.”

 

“Oh!” Flux smiled, reaching out to shake Clout’s hand. “You must be Clout. I’ve seen you on the Conclave, but I just never came up to you.”

 

“Cryin’ shame,” the tankformer joked. Her paint was dark and menacing, with carelessly divested Autobot badges branded down her arms, garish red. A few were gray, and some had scraps of their previous owner’s plating attached. She noticed Flux eyeing them, and grinned, lifting one arm to a ninety degree angle. “Like these? They’re from generals.”

 

Flux blinked, unsure if the engex was going to her head or not. “Oh. Oh, my. That certainly is… interesting.”

 

“Gore not your thing?” Clout guessed, lowering her arm. “Hey, that’s cool. We all got our reasons.” she lifted a stein of engex to her lips, gulping it down, and Flux’s eyes followed her strong jaw down to the way her throat flexed and the way that some of the engex dribbled out past the sides of her mouth. Flux’s cheeks felt very hot all of a sudden, and she squirmed.

 

Having drained the stein, Clout slammed it down, belching satisfiedly. She peered over the rim of Flux’s smaller mug. “What did you get?”

 

“Oh, I just got a Vosian Thermals. Nothing too… heavy.”

 

“That’s sweet,” Clout cooed, and Flux giggled nervously. The tankformer cleared her throat. “So, uh, Megatron said he might be giving you a ship. Wanna see mine?”

 

“Oh, um, now?”

 

“If you wanna,” Clout purred, leaning forwards a little, and Flux’s face got so hot the vents in her tall audials whistled. “Or, we could have a few drinks and see it later. Or not at all. Up to you, sweet thing.”

 

Flux nervously slurped the last of her drink, and it left a ring above her lips. Clout cooed again. “You’ve got a… a… here, let me.”

 

She licked her thumb and leaned forwards to wipe the fuel away, and Flux nearly fainted. Clout laughed. “You look like a pair of speedster headlights. You keep staring like that and your face is going to get stuck that way, Flux. Do you like something you see?”

 

Flux ducked her helm shyly, won over by the charm and flirting. She glanced back up, and smiled. “I do, actually. So, a few drinks and then your ship?”

 

Clout grinned, and Flux denied the request for her fans to come on when she saw the tank’s tongue barely wet her lower lip. “That sounds wonderful, sweet thing.”

 

The two talked for a couple hours more, and Flux gladly accompanied the tank back to her empty ship. Her own units were out partying as well, more spread out than Flux’s -- then again, Flux’s units had always been very tight-knit, closer to each other than the rest of the army. Megatron had even brought it up once or twice.

 

“So,” Clout swaggered, in the empty control room, coming over to the dash panel. She slapped a hand down on it, a little wobbly. “So. We ride this baby for all it’s worth. She’s got a lot under the metaphorical hood, so to speak.” Clout puffed up at Flux’s appreciative murmuring as she looked around. “She’s like a good old muscle car, almost.”

 

The interior was well-loved, and Flux took it all in, pleasantly buzzed from her drinks. She’d left arm-in-arm with Clout, and judging by the smug and incredulous look Conure had shot her on her way out, her units had assumed what was going on. Flux herself wasn’t oblivious -- she knew Clout had been laying it on thick, but the attention was very appreciated. She hadn’t really dated since Chermiin, only rarely seeking professional company on shore leave. She looked up from the dashboard controls as Clout inquired something she didn’t catch. “Hm?”

 

“I said, ‘do you wanna reactivate our FIM chips and I can, show you a little more of the ship?’”

 

“Oh!” Flux blushed, smiling. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’d be nice.”

 

She woke the next morning next to a snoring Clout, sitting up and stretching. The cargo plane got up, noticing that she’d have some paint transfers to buff out. It was… very worth it.

 

She went over to the small mini-fridge and found something non-engexic, pouring herself a little bit of it. She walked back over to the bed, noticing on her chronometer that it was still early, and sat down, gingerly so as not to wake Clout. The tank snorted in her sleep and rolled over, back facing Flux. The cargo plane pulled out a datapad, sipping her drink, and started to read a little. When she finished her drink, she sent a group comm to her units.

**:Check in when you are able. Roll call.:**

 

She got a few replies immediately. Carapace’s brief reply of “safe and well” was no surprise, as ce was usually up this early. Another vanguard General checked in as well, though Flux wasn’t expecting a reply from General Conure for quite a while. She’d probably be passed out drunk. A couple other mecha chimed in to let her know they were okay, and then the replies petered out. Flux simply put the conversation aside to wait for the next wave, and went back to her datapad.

 

Clout had the captain’s quarters, which meant that they were extravagant as the ship would allow. Big and luxurious, Clout had chosen to furnish it with all kinds of pelts from various planets and star systems, and a case stood on the far wall from the door. Behind its glass, Autobrands like the ones down her arm were neatly arranged on shelves, apparently having been retired from their place on her arms. Flux swallowed, lips quirking down, and sighed. How someone could take this much pleasure in war and killing, she had no idea. To soothe herself she rubbed a hand over the multitudes of warm pelts flung on top of the bed’s blankets, admiring their softness. Where Clout had gotten them, Flux had no idea, but they were nice.

 

An hour and three chapters later, Clout stirred, mumbling in her half-sleep, and jolted. It made Flux jump as well, and Clout turned suddenly, red eyes wide. She relaxed after a moment, and sighed. “Sorry. Had a nightmare.”

 

“We all do,” Flux reassured. “Good morning.”

 

“Morning, sweet thing,” Clout purred, regaining her confidence again. She sat up, covers rustling, and rested her helm on Flux’s shoulder, hot breath ghosting over the plane’s plating. “Did you enjoy last night?”

 

Flux sighed at the thought, smiling a little. “Quite a bit. Did you?”

 

“Oh, definitely. Would you… like to do it again sometime?”

 

“Yes,” Flux found herself saying before she could think. “Yes, I would.”

 

She could feel Clout smile against her throat, and her tanks tightened. “Good.” 

 

They stayed like that for a moment, until Clout sighed a huge breath and pulled away, flopping back into the pillows. “You tired me out. Wanna go somewhere today?”

 

“This city has a good datapad store,” Flux suggested, and Clout shrugged.

 

“Yeah, alright. Anywhere else?”

 

“Um…”

 

“There’s a good little breakfast nook nearby. Want some real food instead of rations?”

 

“Primus, yes,” Flux said immediately, and Clout laughed, belly plating flexing. 

 

“Yeah, me too.”

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


“I need those reports on the revised Asher’s Bleach like you promised me, Gadget,” Capacitor groused, as Gadget stood stiffly across the desk from her, claws twitching. “C’mon, you know ReDouble’s gotta run the whole lab, does he have to do your reports now too?”

 

“BUT PRELIMINARY REPORTS WOULDN’T SHOW ANY SIGNIFICANT DIFFERENCE FROM THE LAST TIME I TESTED IT. MY P-VALUES THIS TRIAL WEREN’T STATISTICALLY SIGNIFICANT AND YOU SAID YOU DON’T WANT STATISTICALLY INSIGNIFICANT REPORTS.”

 

“When I said that, I meant produce results,” Capacitor snapped, and Gadget tilted her helm, one set of finials drooping.

 

“PROVING A NULL HYPOTHESIS IS A RESULT, CAPACITOR.”

 

“You know what I fucking mean.”

 

“STATISTICALLY INSIGNIFICANT RESULTS AREN’T A FAILURE, THEY JUST TELL US AS SCIENTISTS WE DON’T NEED TO LOOK IN THAT DIRECTION ANY MORE, OR THAT WE NEED TO REVISE OUR METHODOLOGY. IT NARROWS THE SCOPE.”

 

“Well you’d better get to narrowing quick, because we’re sending that shit out soon,” Capacitor said, fingertip hitting the desk twice to illustrate her point. She looked antsy. Gadget tilted her helm a little further.

 

“WHY ARE YOU SO ANTSY?”

 

“What?”

 

“YOU’RE JUMPY.”

 

“None of your business, Gadget. High command’s just up my tailpipe.”

 

“ABOUT THE COMMANDER?”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“I SAW WHAT YOU DID TO THE COMMANDER. I KNOW, CAPACITOR. I KNOW YOU MURDERED HIM.”

 

Capacitor’s eyes flashed and she swallowed, gaze flicking around. She leaned in. “I don’t know what you think you saw,” she whispered, almost seeming scared, “but you’re misremembering. He was shot to death by the Cons, Gadget, I saw it.”

 

“OF COURSE YOU’RE SAYING THAT, YOU’RE THE KILLER,” Gadget said, frustrated. “I KNOW WHAT I SAW. YOU FIRED AT THE COMMANDER AT THE SAME TIME THE CONS DID SO IT WOULD LOOK LIKE THEY SHOT HIM.”

 

“You certainly have a vivid imagination,” Capacitor said loudly, standing. “Is there a report to give me or not?”

 

“NO.”

 

“Then get out of my office.”

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


“Nice ship,” Haven remarked, walking onto the bridge where Sanctuary was at the controls. “I know I’ve said it, but… wow.”

 

“Thank you,” the ephemeral bot replied cheerfully. Haven wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t some sort of Primal spirit. “We consider it home. Last chance, Doctor, we’re nearly there -- you’re welcome to stay.”

 

“Nah,” Haven said, planting his top right hand on the back of Sanctuary’s chair and leaning into it, “one of my students had the right idea and I’m taking his advice a little late. Besides, an old nag like me? You’d get tired.”

 

He took a cygarette out of his subspace and lit up the end, the tip glowing a bright blue as he inhaled and let his mouth, nose and side vents ooze smoke. Sanctuary didn’t comment other than an amused, “you know, those are bad for your vents.”

 

“Ach,” Haven grumbled, swiping another hand, “so they keep telling me. They’re fine if you change your filters. Besides, I’m nearly seven million years old. I’m a cluster of nuts and bolts anyways, what’s a little smoke going to do?”

 

As if to mock him, his body recoiled in a fit of coughing, as his cygarette stayed delicately pinched in the crook of his index and middle finger. Sanctuary inclined his head, gently steering the ship.

 

“That,” he said, voice calm. “But it’s no matter. We’re here. Lockstop recruitment station, here you come. Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah,” Haven said, sighing as his lips barely pulled into a smile. A wave of relief washed over him and he took another drag, puffing smoke away from Sanctuary. The recruitment station was in sight through the cockpit window, a bustling city full of Autobot residents and soldiers alike. Sanctuary steered the ship into an approved landing zone, and touched down. Haven puffed smoke and patted the bot’s shoulder.

 

“I don’t know what to say,” he murmured quietly, spark feeling dull. Sanctuary chuckled and rose, embracing him quickly.

 

“How about, ‘transform and roll out’?” he joked, and Haven laughed to himself, separating.

 

“Where are the others? I wanna say goodbye.”

 

“They’ll certainly be sad to see you go,” Sanctuary said, and steered him away by one of his top shoulders to go find the others. After an emotional goodbye, Haven left the ship with nothing but the possessions he’d woken up with and a cygarette hanging out of his mouth. Looking over his shoulder at the shipyard by habit, he crossed into more residential and business areas, searching for the recruitment station in the middle of town. He caught stares and whispers as he went, but thankfully only from the people immediately around him. After a few minutes of walking at a healthy clip, he wound up in front of the city council building, run by Autobot High Command. A security guard approached him, paint shining in the sunny light. He looked suspicious -- and young.

 

“Whatcha doing out here, huh?”

 

“Uh,” Haven said, eyes widening a little as he puffed smoke and looked down at the badge on his windshield. “That’s a good question, kid. This is the place to go if I’m looking for a bit of a redesign, isn’t it? If you catch my drift.”

 

The kid relaxed, a little surprised. “You want to become an Autobot?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Uh, sure, I’ll take you right in. You know, you have some guts.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah, with the DJD and all. We’ve seen flip rates from Con to Bot plummet in recent years.”

 

Haven blinked. “You mean he actually went through with that cockamamie idea?”

 

“Mhm,” the security guard nodded, pushing the revolving glass door and beckoning him along. “Sure did. You need to go in a program or something?”

 

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” Haven replied, both because he was pretty sure his ruse worked and because he didn’t much care if he lived or died. He was going to die someday, probably sooner rather than later at his age. It was all downhill from here, really -- at least he still had his hands. “The Cons think I’m dead.”

 

“Hey, good for you,” the kid said, and led him through the hallway and up a couple of floors, and then down another hallway. Finally, they got to a door which led into a sort of registrar’s office. “Come on in here, and go up to the desk clerk. Wait for your name to be called after you register and they’ll start giving you paperwork and stuff.”

 

“Got it,” Haven said, smiling at the kid as he passed him to go in the office. “Thank you.”

 

“Of course.” 

 

Haven shut the door behind himself, and looked around at the room. Mounted holovid screens dotted two of the four corners of the room, and it looked remarkably like a general practitioner’s waiting room. In fact, the lobby had looked that way as well -- and the hallways were wide enough for two gurneys to pass each other. Had this been some sort of hospital? Haven would put money on it. Chairs lined three of the walls, and the fourth wall was a barrier between the office and the waiting room. Windows held clerks that would process transfer requests. Haven walked up to one and put his cygarette out out of habit. “Excuse me,” he prompted, and the clerk at the window looked up and smiled at him.

 

“How can I help you?” he said, blinking in that very “i’m nice because it’s my job” kind of way. Haven didn’t mind. He knew the feeling.

 

“Uh, yeah, I’m here to transfer factions?” he tapped his badge with a finger. “Purple’s not really my color, I’m deciding.”

 

“Good choice, uh….”

 

“Haven,” he said, and the waiting room, filled with soft chatter, stilled behind him. “Haven of Helex.”

 

The clerk blinked in shock. “The guy who taught Ratchet? And Pharma?”

 

Haven couldn’t help but smile and puff his chestplates a little at the mention of his students. Pride bloomed in his spark, at how well they had done. They were even beginning to overshadow him! Truly, he’d done a good job. “Yeah, that Haven.”

 

“Yeah, of course, I’ll get a rush on it. I thought you looked kinda familiar!”

 

“No need,” Haven said, “I’ve got time.” But the clerk was already getting paperwork to hand him, pushing it at him. So he took it, and waited as directed, sitting in an empty chair to fill out the forms and sign the contracts. After the papers were filled out he brought them back up, and the clerk beamed at him.

 

“Just go ahead and wait a little more and a caseworker will be right out to help you,” he said. Then, he handed over another datapad. “Something to read while you wait. You’ll wanna keep this with you -- you’ll need it for the exam.”

 

“Primus, I haven’t taken exams since routine recertification,” Haven joked, and took the datapad. It was a copy of the Autobot Code. He frowned, squinting at it, and looked back up. “There’s an exam on this? How do you test for the kind of stuff you’re looking for?”

 

The clerk seemed a little uncomfortable at that, smile stalling out into something strained. “Ah…”

 

Haven shook his head, waving a hand. “Never mind. Sorry.”

 

“You’re good,” the clerk said as Haven walked away. The medic took his seat and started to fill out forms with the stylus provided, ignoring the stares from his fellow transfers. One leaned over and poked him in the top left shoulder -- he looked up, pausing his scribbling.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Sorry, it's just… I thought you might be a hologram. It's really you? Everyone thought you were dead.”

 

“Kind of the point,” Haven joked, cracking a gruffly gentle smile. “No harm, no foul. Are you just starting transfer too?”

 

“Me? Oh, gosh no, I'm meeting with my caseworker to study for my exam. He says if I do well enough, there's a chance I could get assigned somewhere really cool.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Haven asked, wishing for a smoke. 

 

“Where are you hoping to get assigned?”

 

“I dunno, kid,” Haven said, sighing as he went back to his forms. “Just somewhere. Not the Nemesis.”

 

The office door opened, and a slim jet came in, wingtips fluttering off of his elbows. He was handsome, with half-moon readers perched at the end of his nose. He leaned on the small counter at the registrar’s desk and smiled at the clerk. He had a nice smile. Haven found himself staring.

 

“Hey,” he said, voice smooth, “You know where Dent got off to? He’s supposed to be over this way he said, but it’s been like an hour, it feels like.”

 

“You two got here like thirty minutes ago,” the clerk said, “Dent was comming me nonstop. Garrus-10 is going through more guards?”

 

“What can I say?” The jet shrugged. “Planets near Messatine have high turnover. Thankfully not for the reason most people assume. People just get scared, which is… fair.”

 

At the mention of the DJD’s home planet, the entire waiting room hushed, as the occupants practically cowered away from the notion. The jet continued, oblivious. “So yeah, we’re here for some new blood. There’s this like, new program where the boss wants to hire from more places to see if that cuts down the turnover.”

 

“That doesn’t make any sense, Thinstreak,” the clerk said, smiling bemusedly. Thinstreak shrugged, smiling. His smile was lovely. Haven didn’t even notice how his stylus had trailed right off of the page he was on. He hurriedly picked it up and erased the stray line on screen. 

 

“Yeah, well, it was better than his last plan. Anyways, have you seen Dent?”

 

“No, but you’ll never guess. Alright, don’t look, but behind you -- guess what?”

 

“Uh?”

 

“It’s --”

 

The main door opened, and another bot stuck his head through. “Thinstreak! There you are.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” the jet said, “by the way, are we staying in the city for the night?”

 

“Yeah, for the week actually. Come on, I got the paperwork in for new guards, let’s go get something to eat. I’m starving.”

 

“That makes two of us,” Thinstreak grumbled, and left, hips swaying. Haven watched him go wistfully. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really dated. Work had always just taken precedence -- which didn’t really bother him all that much, actually. He was perfectly happy with that. But there was just something so alluring about the jet. Haven shrugged after a moment and finished filling out the forms, bringing them up to the desk to drop them off. The clerk smiled.

 

“Okay, I’ll put these in for consideration and we’ll get back to you by tomorrow! You put your frequency down, right? We need it to contact you.”

 

“Yeah, I did. So I can just… go?”

 

“Uh, if you could go ahead and remove your Decepticon badge, you’ll be all set. There’s a back room for that if you need it?”

 

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

 

The clerk got up and waved him to the door that would take him further back into the complex, opening it from the other side to let him in. Haven then followed the clerk down the hall, deciding that this had definitely been some sort of medical complex -- likely a collection of general and specific practices grouped in one building rather than an E.R. or a hospital. However, judging from the regulation-compliant hallways on the first floor, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that the first floor had been some sort of trauma response section. Haven shook himself out of his musing when the clerk gestured to a small room, what had probably been an exam room. It had been reappropriated into a small fix-it station, with tools for badge self-removal, both paint-specific and metal-badge specific. Haven waited until the door was closed to get to work, carefully scrubbing away his past of being a Decepticon after a few moments of hesitation.

 

He left the recruitment station a badgeless bot, out on the street and a little overwhelmed with the freedom of his choices. Until the registrar contacted him, he… could really do what he wanted. He had enough money to get by for a few meals until he started his Autobot stipend… perhaps he could get something nice to eat. He ambled over to the small community plaza and sat on a bench, taking out a datapad to search restaurants in the area. There were a few diners near him, and the one listed as the best was only a few blocks away. He got up, noted the directions, and started walking, feeling a little out of place. He was used to structures, to shifts, the clockwork of the medibay. Now he could just… walk. It was almost as if he was a medical professor again, taking a stroll to the Praxian place down the street for some lunch. Things felt so normal here. It didn’t feel like there was a war going on at all. The city was nice, bustling with just enough activity to give the doctor a little extra energy but not so much that it was exhausting. The diner was visible from the street, with seating both inside and outside. Haven approached the door and froze, eyes rooted to the outside seating. Thinstreak and his friend were yucking it up over their food.

 

The doctor flushed in embarrassment, and hurried inside. He hadn’t meant to follow them here. They looked almost done, maybe they’d be gone by the time he got his food so he could sit outside? It was such a nice day…

 

He went up to the counter, and browsed the menu, delighting in the fact that they seemed to have Helexian home food on their menu. He ordered one of his favorites and took the tray of food outside when he got and paid for it. He passed Thinstreak and his friend and sat a few tables away, tucking into his food. It wasn’t as good as the original, but… Haven moaned to himself as he took a bite, sighing through his nose. He’d missed this. After a few seconds, and a look around to see if there was anyone directly next to him who’d be affected (there wasn’t), he took out his cygarette. He lit up the end and took a deep, soothing drag, exhaling. Smoke rushed from him and he savored the acrid tang as it grounded him, relaxing his frayed nerves. Then he took the cygarette away from his mouth and held it point-up in the crook of his fingers, with his wrist balancing on the table as he ate a few more bites. Maybe he was just hungry, but this was damn good food. He took a few more puffs.

 

“Hey,” a voice called, and Haven looked up. Thinstreak was trying to flag him down, and discreetly covering a cough. “Could you put that out? Sorry, my vents are finicky.”

 

“Oh, hell,” Haven said, and coughed a little as he flicked the cygarette out and put it away. “Sorry about that, sure.”

 

“It’s no problem,” Thinstreak said, and his gaze lingered. Haven found his own optics trapped by the jet’s bright green ones. They were just hypnotizing. “Hey, do I know you? Aren’t you… aren’t you Haven of Helex?”

 

“Yeah,” the doctor answered, smiling a little. “That’s me.”

 

“Wow,” the jet gushed, and Dent snickered something to himself. Thinstreak scowled momentarily and smacked his shoulder, then returning his attention to Haven with a big smile. “That’s really impressive. Do you mind if I come over? Chatting over tables is a little awkward.”

 

“Not at all,” Haven said, gesturing to the empty chairs at his table. Dent grumbled something about being left out and Thinstreak pushed his head down as he passed him.

 

“You’ll make it,” he snarked, grinning, and Haven felt a little guilty.

 

“You’re welcome too,” he called out, and Dent swiped a hand.

 

“I’m just giving you a hard time,” he answered, “It’ll be nice to eat something without listening to Thinstreak’s yakking. He gossips like an old blacksmith.”

 

“Will you shut up?” Thinstreak tossed over his shoulder, and then leaned with one hand propped on Haven’s table. “So, Haven? What are you doing out this way? Aren’t… you a Con?”

 

“Uh,” Haven said, eyes widening. He wasn’t too fond of the tone on “Con”. But perhaps it was just his imagination… he shook it off, but played it safe. “I’m more of a doctor than anything else.” He tapped the absent space on his chest to prove it. “I always have been, always will be.”

 

A slow smile spread across Thinstreak’s face, as his eyelids dropped a little. “So, when did you get here?”

 

“Today, actually,” Haven answered, feeling chatty. It was nice to have someone interested in him, especially as more than friends, if he was interpreting the signals right. “I hitched a ride with some -- some other non-aligneds and decided it was time to go red.”

 

“Always a good choice,” Thinstreak nodded, in a very joking “go team” kind of way. “Can’t go wrong there, it goes with everything.”

 

Haven laughed at that, secretly overjoyed at how the laughter even seeped into his spark. Talking to Thinstreak made him feel young again, if he ever had. The air outside was warm with a slight breeze, and the sun was bright. “Yeah, sure, if you say so. Do you know a good place to stay for the night? They’re finalizing my papers.”

 

“Dent and I are staying in the hotel just down the street, it’s really nice.” The jet leaned down after glancing over his shoulder. “We have adjoining rooms, if you’d like to come check out the premises for yourself,” he murmured, and Haven’s plating puffed slightly as his face heated. Was he being propositioned? God, he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. It felt good. Shocking, but… good. He smiled. 

 

“Thanks, I… I might. But I would need your help with something first.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah, it’s just… this is a good little place to have lunch, but I don’t know any good places for dinner.”

 

“How tragic, Doctor. I assume you’d want me to rectify that?”

 

“If you would be so kind.”

 

“It would be my honor and pleasure,” Thinstreak said, laying it on thick. His smile was gorgeous, graceful under his strong, aristocratic nose. He was everything Megatron hated and Haven was in love with him on sight. “If we exchange comm frequencies, I would find it much easier to get your opinion on where to take you after we part ways.”

 

“Oh, would you now?” Haven laughed, in a tone that called Thinstreak on his cheekiness. Nonetheless, he scribbled his down on the datapad he had with him and handed it over, watching as Thinstreak took it down and then taking it back. He tucked it back into his subspace as Thinstreak sent him a test message. Haven automatically sorted Thinstreak as a contact and smiled. “Alright, so you have no excuses now.”

 

“I’m sure I won’t need any,” the jet replied. He looked Vosian, and he had a high-brow Vosian accent, too. Sophisticated and all that. “Enjoy your lunch, Doctor, my compatriot and I have to get going. What time shall we meet up?”

 

“Is seven alright? Gives me enough time to find a place to stay for however long it takes for my papers to go through.”

 

“Hm.” Thinstreak nodded, thoughtfully. “That works. By the way, I’m pretty sure I could pull a few strings. How would you like to skip the exam?”

 

“Well, I don’t want to cheat if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“Not at all! But I’m a senior guard at Garrus-10, and well… the clinic needs a new doctor. How would you like to try it out?”

 

Haven thought on it. It was near Messatine, which definitely made things harder. But if he refused on those grounds, Thinstreak might start asking the wrong questions about why. Haven knew that pretending the jet didn’t know, or even wouldn’t find out that the doctor had been a Decepticon was some sort of pipe dream. But… he wanted a fresh start, he was finding. Perhaps he could just… excise that nasty bit from his history, start anew. It’d be nice. So he shrugged. “Offering me a date and a job? You’re forward.”

 

“You’re one of the best doctors on Cybertron, a genius of both your time and today,” Thinstreak said, “What, am I supposed to be unimpressed?”

 

Haven looked away a little bashfully, shrugging as he waved his bottom two hands. “It helps to have four arms. More than you might think, actually. And as for genius… well, I don’t know. I suppose I devote more of my waking hours to medicine than I should.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure,” Thinstreak said, and his voice was almost a purr. “Think on it, why don’t you! You don’t have to decide now. I’ll be in touch, Doctor. Enjoy your food.” He started to pull away but his fingers brushed Haven’s left top hand, as it was resting on the table, playfully. Then he turned to walk back to his table, and if Haven wasn’t imagining things, swayed his hips more than necessary. The doctor finished his lunch after the two friends left, pulling out his cygarette once more and taking his time. It was a blessing to be so unfettered.

 

After turning in his tray to the return station, he left, getting directions to various hotels around the block. He picked a small one with a decent reputation and got himself settled in, finally taking an even bigger sigh of relief when the door to his room closed, leaving him alone. He shuffled over the the bed and allowed himself to fall on it, shifting to get comfortable. His eyes slid closed to rest, as he sighed again. He was exhausted. It felt like he had moved mountains today.

 

The next thing he knew he was waking up to a comm.  **:Haven, where would you like to meet?:**

 

The doctor groaned, scrubbing his eyes, and checked the chronometer. An hour had passed.  **:I’m not sure, where do you think is good?:**

 

**:There’s a lovely Iaconian-style restaurant that opens at six. It has amazing food.:**

 

**:Sounds good to me. Thank you for taking me out.:**

 

**:It’s my pleasure!:**

 

Haven smiled at the message, giddy at the flutters in his tanks. It felt nice to be fancied. He found himself with a burst of energy and shuffled into the washroom to tidy up, trying to make himself look a little more presentable. He fussed and spot-scrubbed with a washcloth and fixed up finish with the wax provided, answering Thinstreak’s comms as he went. The jet was to pick him up at six and then they were off to the restaurant. Haven fussed and spot-cleaned and had a nervous smoke in the washroom, coughing every once in a while. He breathed in deep to test and grumbled at the rattling of his filters. Maybe he should get those changed soon. Another time. He was too tired to deal with it at the moment.

 

He nearly jumped at his comms suite pinging him.  **:It’s Thinstreak, I’m outside. Are you ready?:**

 

**:Of course, I’ll be right there.:** Haven took a shaky breath and flicked his wrist to put his cygarette out, tucking it away in his subspace and bustling his way downstairs and into the lobby. Then he exited the glass doors and out onto the sidewalk, where Thinstreak swayed over to greet him. He looked as if he had touched up as well, and he cast a careful, appreciative eye over Haven’s efforts.

 

“You look very handsome.”   
  
“Thanks,” Haven said, a mite gruffly, cheeks hot. “So, you lead the way.”

 

Thinstreak chuckled a little, and did. The night air had cooled down a little, but the breeze was still there, carried through the streets by the buildings’ funneling. It had a bit more of a bite, but Haven barely noticed, absorbed in conversation with the jet as they walked. Thinstreak was a great conversationalist -- maybe a little pompous sometimes, but Haven didn’t mind. He was considerate, and flirtatious, and Haven found himself swept up. Transfixed, he barely registered sitting down in the romantically-lit restaurant and receiving menus. Thinstreak set down his own, sighing. “I’m not sure what to get.”

 

“You know this place better than I do,” Haven half-joked, and Thinstreak laughed. 

 

“I can still be indecisive!”

 

“That’s true. So, what’s this about a job?”

 

“Oh! Yes, I work in Garrus-10 as a senior guard. I… understand it’s not for everyone, but our clinic doctor is looking to transfer and he needs a replacement. It pays well.”

 

“Well, don’t I have to be an Autobot for that?” Haven asked, lifting an eye ridge. “I appreciate the offer, but my papers haven’t even gone through yet.”

 

“Oh, I can fix that,” Thinstreak said, waving a hand with a little “pfft”. “Honestly, I could do it right now. Would you mind?”

 

“Uh?” Haven thought about it. He didn’t want to cheat, but… he did want to go where Thinstreak was, wanting to see him more. “No, I wouldn’t.”

 

Thinstreak smiled and commed someone, eyes cutting up and to the right. “Yes, hi. Yes, things are going fine, Dent and I will be back with the new transfers soon. I might have found a medic to replace Seabrine.”

 

Haven thought he heard something like “Well great, let’s get ‘em signed on” and Thinstreak hissed through his teeth. The lights flickered low and the air smelled like expensive spices, opal carried on the wafting smell from the kitchen. 

 

“Yeah, it’s Haven of Helex. No, I swear, I’m sitting across from him at the table now. He says he’s interested. Yes, the real one! I know he dropped off the face of the known world, just -- just trust me, okay? It’s really him. Well, yeah, I’d love to get him on board, but his papers haven’t gone through. He’s not an Autobot yet.”

 

A muffled swear came through the commlink. Thinstreak listened to more chatter, and then answered. “Well, yes, that would be nice. Oh, could you? Thank you, it’s much appreciated.”

 

Haven lifted an eye ridge as Thinstreak hung up the call and smiled. “He says he’s going to call his boss and see where it goes from there.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 10!!! wow!! so how do you all think things are unfolding? it's kind of a small world tbh. who are your favorite characters thus far??
> 
> thank you for reading! <3


	11. Mounting Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gadget runs the Tebba base lab in ReDouble's week of paid vacation absence, Flux and Clout have trouble in paradise, Chermiin further adapts to life in G-9, and Haven settles into his role as head clinic doctor in Garrus-10. Furthermore, Flux's next Conclave meeting holds a grisly surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers:**
> 
>  
> 
> **gore in-depth description at paragraph 13 (counting single sentence paragraphs), ends at paragraph 22.**
> 
>  
> 
> **nothing else i can think of, but if you need anything else tagged, please let me know!**

ReDouble strolled hand and hand with his conjunx, grateful for their week of shore leave. He’d requested off time from the lab to match, and was granted it. Yes, Capacitor wasn’t really in charge of how or when he got time off -- sort of, for certain, but not really -- but it helped. Gadget was running things in his absence, and he had no doubt she’d run a crack ship. She was distant but professional with her fellow lab workers, and excelled in the laboratory. ReDouble idly swung his and Capacitor’s hands, listening to her rant and complain about her ranking. They were on a shore leave planet in Graphta. They’d landed in the city this morning, early, and were searching for somewhere to have breakfast.

 

“Primus, I’m just so fucking pissed,” Capacitor exhaled, vents blasting hot air and melting snowflakes in transit to the ground. “Ugh! She’s buddy-buddy with the head honcho and gets into officer cadre. I work my ass off day in and day out and what am I? A glorified air shuttle who just barely scraped into commander status because the last one didn’t list a successor in his damn will! By chance! It’s not fucking fair!”

 

“Mm,” ReDouble hummed, nodding, and swung their hands a couple more times. The late morning light bounced off of the snow blindingly, and the city bustled with brisk travellers, Autobot, Decepticon, and everyone in between. It was also a trade city, and that meant organics cautiously operated in certain city blocks. They went scattering the second they saw a flash of purple, and ReDouble didn’t blame them. 

 

“I got this frame redesign to one-up her and how often have I seen her on the battlefield? I can count the fucking number on one hand, ReDouble. And it’s been two million years! Primus, I am itching to rip her a new one.”

 

“Yeah,” ReDouble agreed, “I know you are. But now, let’s focus on brunch, shall we?”

 

“Good idea,” Capacitor sighed, shaking her head. “Sorry, I’m just so damn frustrated. Where do you wanna go?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s go somewhere nice; I’m tired of rations.”

 

“Fuck, me too,” Capacitor grumbled, helm swivelling to look for places. “Hey, there’s an Autobot only joint. Wanna check it out?”

 

“Oh! Sure, why not?”

 

They went in, noticing the bright homey interior. The food was good and warm, perfect comfort food, and it left them feeling sated and calmed. Capacitor was in a much better mood after that, but then again, ReDouble knew she would be. Good food always made her feel a little better.

  
  


\----------------

  
  


Flux’s helm swivelled, as she sent a comm asking Clout where she was. A frown decorated her face, and Autobots scurried out of her path, as did younger, lower-ranked Cons. She got a ping from Clout, location coordinates. She was only a few minutes away. They’d had breakfast, and nearly gotten into a fight with three Autobots afterwards. Flux had diffused the situation by sending Clout away to cool off.

 

Clout’s appeal was quickly fading. The charm and the bravado could only do so much, and Flux had never really made a habit of associating with people like Clout. But she was holding out hope that maybe Clout could be reasoned with. They just needed to sit down and have a discussion, a real one. After all, she wasn’t Megatron. Flux followed the signal, and the snow crunched under her feet. She noticed that quite a few people were headed in the opposite direction from her, and she frowned again, uneasy. A shriek sounded, and it didn’t sound Cybertronian. This was followed by shouting, in Neocybex, and now Flux broke into a jog. She approached a back alley, where the noise was coming from, and stopped dead in her tracks.

 

Clout was currently ripping some poor creature in half, grinning down at it as blood spurted everywhere, staining the snow and her plating. She glanced up, and the smile faded a little. “Oh, hey. Letting off some steam.”

 

Flux gaped, fuel pounding in her lines, and dazedly stepped forwards to inspect the carnage, almost accidentally bumping into a dumpster on her way over. The pitiful organic’s guts were strung out everywhere, bleeding into the snow, and Clout had crushed part of it under her foot to get leverage. Bones poked out, glinting wetly, and Flux found herself overcome with a wave of intense and sudden nausea. She made a dive for the dumpster, guts heaving, and emptied her breakfast into the dumpster, knees wobbly as she coughed. Clout cried out, rushing over to lay a bloody hand on her shoulder. “Hey, hey, woah! Are you okay? Is it something you ate?”

 

“What did you  _ do?” _ Flux rasped, mouth awash with a horrible taste.

 

“Hey, I took a walk, like you said!”

 

“And  _ murdered _ somebody! In a truce zone!”

 

“It’s just an organic,” Clout said, a bit confused, and Flux started to retch again, dry heaving because her tanks were emptied.

 

“Man, you really do not like gore, huh,” Clout noted, and patted her shoulder. Flux felt a smear of organic blood and her plating crawled. “How’d you become such a high-ranker, then?”

 

Flux wanted to say that it wasn’t all about fighting and killing, but she knew it wouldn’t sink through. Her whole body was trembling, and she got a few more check-in pings from her team. Even the wash of reassurance in the back of her helm knowing her units were safe and well didn’t help, and her tanks churned again. A crash jerked both of them to attention, a stray trail of vomit leaking from the corner of Flux’s mouth. At the other end of the alley, another organic stood frozen, clearly having attempted to hide behind some trash cans. It had likely been there for all of Clout’s gory entertainment attempt, and Flux prayed it didn’t know the deceased. Not that made it any more horrific.

 

Clout snarled, and attempted to go for it, but Flux grabbed her arm hard enough to dent. “Stop! You’ve done enough!”

 

“Will you lay off?” Clout snarled, wrenching her arm as the organic scrabbled away and fled down the street. “You’re no fun!”

 

“Murder isn’t  _ fun,” _ Flux said gravely, chest heaving with her vents. The deep breaths did nothing to settle her tanks, and Clout took pity on her. 

 

“You know what, you’re real sick. Probably fuel poisoning. I was wondering what was up with you back there at the breakfast joint, you know? Yeah, you probably had some bad fuel. Let’s uh, let’s get you back on the ship and you can rest until you feel better, okay? I can drop you back off at the Nemesis.”

 

The whole way back, Flux stared quietly at the ground. She had gotten that organic killed. If she had just used any other distraction -- perhaps given Clout an objective, a direction -- then the tank wouldn’t have flown off the handle. But she did. And it was Flux’s fault. And someone innocent was dead because of it.

  
  


\----------------------

  
  


Gadget hated running the lab. She really did. Despised it. This wasn’t the type of control she liked. She liked being behind the scenes, moving things around like pieces on a board, having information at her disposal. She didn’t even really care for control in the first place, content to live her life and survive. But this? People having to run their projects by her, and this and that and do this and report that? Ugh. She didn’t know how ReDouble did it, she really didn’t. But, she’d volunteered for this to give him some off time with his conjunx, and she hoped he was enjoying it. A week in, and she was ready to pull her finials out. Capacitor’s second-in-command had already spoken to her three times about slowed efficiency with the other lab techs, but it wasn't her fault they outright refused to listen to her sometimes. The one time she’d passed on a comm from ReDouble, they'd hopped right to it like cyber-roaches, but when Gadget came in with the next experiment on the schedule it was suddenly bad-faith questions left and right and trying to explain things she already knew to her. She was just glad ReDouble was coming back today to relieve her of this hell. It took her twice as long and twice the effort to get half the work done, and a lot of times she simply stayed up during the night to finish projects herself. Half of her morning was spent shooing cocky techs away from projects that she had finished that needed time to sit because they thought that she’d done it wrong. She heard the whisperings; she wasn’t stupid.  _ Bitch. Arrogant. Bad-tempered. Finicky. Shallow. A perfectionist.  _

 

It seemed ReDouble got lauded just for existing, while someone had hip-checked her in the hall the other day and asked “don’t you have a racetrack to get to, fenderbender?” She didn’t understand that why, for people who lauded themselves as progressive and better than Cons, and above classism now, the Autobots could be so insufferably biased. Whatever. Gadget didn’t have the energy to care anymore, she was just glad ReDouble was coming back today so it wouldn’t be her problem anymore. She was snapped out of her musings as a lab tech leaned over her shoulder, frowning. “Hey, shouldn’t you be entering in the B command sequence rather than the Y one?”

 

“NO,” Gadget deadpanned.

 

“Well, you see, the B command sequence activates the chain and gets called during compiling, the Y one activates the chain but gets called during runtime. I get it, they’re just similar enough to be confusing. I know it seems hard, they are really alike, but the B sequence-”

 

“I KNOW WHAT THEY ALL DO.”

 

“Well, no disrespect, but obviously not,” the tech laughed a little, miffed. “Because-”

 

“DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IF I USE THE B SEQUENCE WITH THIS PIECE OF CODE?”

 

“Pretty sure I already do, but okay,” he muttered, and Gadget tilted her helm to the side, cracking her neck, and erased the Y sequence she was working on. She added back on the B sequence and entered it into the system. 

 

The computer glitched out and crashed, and she looked back over her shoulder at the tech, who frowned again. “You did it wrong.”

 

“NO, IT’S THE WRONG FUCKING SEQUENCE. YOU LITERALLY JUST FINISHED CLASSES ON CODING LAST WEEK. IF YOU HAD MORE EXPERIENCE, YOU’D KNOW THAT YOU CAN’T TYPE IN A B SEQUENCE TO A CHAIN OF COMMANDS ATTACHED TO CNA OR IT’LL CRASH THE COMPUTER. B SEQUENCES ARE FOR NON-SENTIENT COMPUTERS ONLY AND WILL WRECK THE CODE YOU HAVE FOR CNA, BUT Y SEQUENCES CAN BE USED FOR BOTH. 

 

B SEQUENCES ARE USED FOR COMPILING BECAUSE CYBERTRONIAN CNA HAS ALREADY BEEN COMPILED AND COMPILING THE DATA TWICE CAUSES THE WHOLE SYSTEM TO CRASH BEFORE YOU CAN EVEN MAKE IT A TRANSMITTABLE VIRUS. CYBERTRONIAN CNA IS CONSTANTLY RUNNING DATA. WHAT WE’RE DOING IS BASICALLY A CODE INJECTION ATTACK, SLIPPING COMPILED CODE INTO ALREADY-RUNNING BIOCODE. I AM SO TIRED OF EVERYONE IN THIS FUCKING LAB THINKING THEY KNOW BETTER THAN ME BECAUSE YOU’RE ALL MICROSCOPES OR SOMETHING. NOW GO AWAY. YOU’VE GOT YOUR OWN PROJECT TO FINISH THAT I’M PRETTY SURE I’LL HAVE TO FIX ANYWAYS.”

 

The lab tech blinked, and his expression grew stormy before he stood up straight and stalked away. “Fine, I guess, you fucking musty bitch. No wonder you don’t have friends. You’ve got too big of a chip on your shoulder.”

 

“YEAH, FUCK OFF, GO STROKE YOURSELF TO HOW SMART YOU ARE,” Gadget spat, throwing a rude gesture his way. It wasn’t very commanderly, but she was sick and tired of this bullshit. He whirled around and shouted at her, something she really didn’t give a shit about, so she muted her audials and got back to work. She turned them back on when he stomped back to his station, just glad he’d finally shut up. If she was lucky, that display would hold other condescending explanations at bay from other techs for at least an hour.

 

She wasn’t lucky. Ten minutes later, a different tech drifted by and glanced at her screen. “Hey, I know you’re in a bad mood, but don’t you think you should try coding in-”

 

Gadget held up a claw to silence him, still coding. “DON’T.”

 

“Oo _ kaay,” _ The tech said awkwardly, and judging by the giggles Gadget heard over her shoulder, he’d mouthed something mockingly to them, or made a face. Tiredly, she tapped her claw on the desk, and sighed through her vents. For all the times to ReDouble to lose track of temporal happenings, today had to be the worst. Ever. After a week of being treated like a moron, Gadget had just about had it, and if Ree didn’t get back quick she was going to snap for real. What that entailed, she wasn’t sure (probably just some yelling), but it was going to happen and she was quickly careening towards her breaking point. 

 

After what felt like an eternity of dreadful waiting, the doors to the lab opened. As if sent by divine order of Primus herself, ReDouble waltzed through the doors, smiling. Capacitor trailed behind him like the caveat following a blessing, and Gadget flashed a smiley face on her screen at him. The lab all collectively shouted for his attention, half of the cries badmouthing Gadget, and she rose, disconnecting herself from her computer port. She strode over, catching his shoulder and pulling him back out to the hallway. When Capacitor shot her a look, she huffed a sigh. “RELAX. IT’S A REPORT.”

 

“Oh? What’s up?” ReDouble queried, eyebrows going up, and Gadget started to answer, until Capacitor drifted by to stand behind him, listening.

 

“WILL YOU GO AWAY? THIS IS PRIVATE.”

 

“Anything you say to him, you can say to me,” Capacitor retorted, and Gadget recoiled, screen fuzzing static. 

 

“ACTUALLY, INCORRECT, AS YOU AREN’T MY DIRECT BOSS. NOW SCAT. THIS DOESN’T CONCERN YOU.”

 

“Really, it’s alright, she can stay,” ReDouble soothed, and Gadget sighed again, too tired to protest.

 

“FINE. THINGS HAVE GONE TO SHIT.”

 

“How so? What happened?”

 

“NOBODY FUCKING LISTENED TO ME, THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED. SUDDENLY A ROOM FULL OF GRADUATED-A-WEEK-AGOS THINKS THEY KNOW MORE THAN I COULD EVER HOPE TO. NOBODY TOOK ME AT MY WORD, QUESTIONS WERE CONSTANTLY BEING ASKED IN BAD FAITH, MY EXPLANATIONS AND ADVICE WASN’T HEEDED, AND I THINK I’VE RECHARGED MAYBE THREE HOURS TOTAL THIS WEEK BECAUSE I HAD TO STAY UP AND FIX EVERYONE ELSE’S AMATEUR MISTAKES BECAUSE NOBODY LISTENED TO A GODDAMN WORD I SAID. THE ONLY TIME THEY DID ANY REAL WORK WITHOUT QUESTION WAS WHEN I PASSED ON A COMM FROM YOU.”

 

She put her visor in her claws and sighed frustratedly, and ReDouble hummed sympathetically, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I’m real sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have left?”

 

“NO, IT’S NOT YOU. I MEAN, I MANAGED TO KEEP PRODUCTION STEADY, BUT IT’S ONLY BECAUSE I’M PULLING ALL THE WEIGHT. SO. MAYBE SPEAK TO YOUR LITTLE SHITS IN THERE. THEY’RE HORRIFIC TO HAVE WORKING UNDER YOU. I’M NOT EVEN HUGE ON RESPECTING AUTHORITY FIGURES, BUT AT LEAST I HAVE THE FUCKING SENSE TO KNOW WHEN SOMEONE’S AN EXPERT IN THE FIELD I JUST ENTERED.”

 

“Yeah, absolutely,” ReDouble nodded, and Capacitor hummed thoughtfully to herself.

 

“That does sound kind of dickish,” she admitted, looking back to the lab. “Did you try just whipping everyone into shape?”

 

“SEE HOW WELL THAT WORKED,” Gadget deadpanned. “NOW I’M JUST THE BITCH EMPURATA BEARINGBREAKER. TRUST ME, THEY TALK ABOUT ME WHEN THEY THINK I CAN’T HEAR THEM. WHICH IS ALWAYS.”

 

ReDouble frowned, thunderously. It looked rather cute on his face, in the way that he looked vaguely like he was pouting. “That isn’t acceptable. I left you in charge because you’re the most capable tech I’ve seen come through that lab. I’ll speak to them right now.”

 

He patted her shoulder again, and walked back through the lab, where all the techs had been whispering furiously amongst themselves, heads close together. ReDouble crossed his arms and cleared his throat, and they all perked up. One stood up, and Gadget recognized him as the one that had shouted at her. “Sir! Thank god you’re back, this week has been horrific. No offense, but -- god, you left the least capable person in charge here.”

 

ReDouble frowned harder. “Really, now. Did I? I suppose having your every move relentlessly questioned and your every request discarded does reduce productivity.”

 

“She wouldn’t let us do anything our way,” another tech complained. “She just did all our projects for us while we were asleep and then she wouldn’t let us fix anything.”

 

ReDouble put his head in his hand and sighed, hard. “I leave for one week and you’ve already got my most capable lab tech reduced to three hours of sleep for a whole week and looking like her plating is about to fall off. Do any of you know how long Gadget has been coding?”

 

Silence.

 

“Would anyone care to take a guess?”

 

One person raised their hand. “A century?”

 

“No.”

 

“Fifty years?”

 

“No.”

 

“Shorter than that?”

 

“Longer,” ReDouble said, clipped and harsh, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes closed. “Gadget, would you care to elaborate something these gentlemecha should already know, considering that some of them have been here in the same lab with you for longer than a century?”

 

Gadget stood a little straighter, finials flicking. “GLADLY. I STARTED CODING APPROXIMATELY 2.1 MILLION YEARS AGO. I AM SELF-TAUGHT AND I LEARNED WHAT DOES AND DOES NOT WORK THROUGH PERSONAL TRIAL AND EXPERIENCE. AS I WAS A MINER IN CARTHEX, MY SAFETY NET FOR MISTAKES WAS SLIM TO NONE -- SO, BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY I KNOW WHAT WORKS.”

 

“Two million years?” Someone prodded, scoffing a little. “Then why does the commander single you out for being unproductive?”

 

Gadget took in a vent to answer, but ReDouble beat her to the punch. “Because Autobot command is hardly a paragon of virtue, and sometimes members make mistakes. Others have biases that they haven’t bothered to address, as do you all, apparently. I’m extremely displeased with your behavior, all of you. Even if you didn’t partake in this, someone should have stood up and said that this behavior was disrespectful. Asking questions is a great scientific tool, but asking questions thinking you already know the answer is arrogant and not useful in the first place. All it does is discourage your colleagues and I am heartily disappointed in all of you. Don’t let this happen again. The next time I have time off from the lab, just remember that Gadget and I talk frequently. She has the full authority and encouragement to comm me with any problems and I will support her if she needs it. Don’t make her need it. Why do you think she’s not qualified, hm?”

 

The techs all looked at each other, cowed. One timidly raised his hand. “She doesn’t look like a hacker, she looks like she belongs on a racetrack.”

 

“Nice, I can and will report you to high command for that,” ReDouble said in a clipped tone, and the lab tech cried out. ReDouble ignored it. “Anyone else want to make discriminatory remarks? No? Then get back to work. Gadget, take the rest of the day off -- I’ll make sure it ends up paid, you deserve it. Thank you for keeping the lab together in my absence.”

  
  


\------------------------

  
  


Chermiin sighed, arms balanced on the horizontal bars of her cell and hanging out as she leaned against the door. A guard stood in front with his back leaned to the door, and he was currently holding up a datapad for her to see. On it, a sports team played, and in his other hand was a bag of chips. Chermiin winced as the team she was rooting for took a hit. “Damn.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what you get,” the guard said without any real malice. “Chips?”

 

“Yeah, I think I will,” Chermiin agreed, and took a handful, stuffing them in her mouth. It was supposed to be lights out, but they were being quiet, and nobody had shushed them yet. “Thanks, Tracks.”

 

“Sure.” He dumped a few more into his mouth, munching on them. For a while, they both munched contentedly, watching the game play out on screen. “How long have you been here, huh?”

 

“Oh,” Chermiin mused, tilting her head up to scratch delicately at her throat with her clawtips. “Uh, two million years, give or take? I might be overestimating. It’s been a while.”

 

“Huh.” Tracks poured some more chips into his mouth, his next question garbled by the food. “How much longer you got?”

 

Chermiin shrugged, with both her shoulders and her mouth. “Hell if I know.”

 

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t,” Tracks murmured, and they both went back to the game. Chermiin’s favored team ended up losing, and she groaned, straightening back up. Tracks jeered goodnaturedly, and Chermiin swatted gently in his direction, turning away. “Shut up, dumbass. Can I have the rest of your chips?”

 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. What’s the matter, we don’t feed you enough?” He grinned, slipping them through the bars, and Chermiin stuck her tongue out at him, swiping them. 

 

“I-”

 

“Shh!” Someone called, and Chermiin and Tracks locked eyes, rolled lips holding back smiles and giggles. Tittering amongst themselves, they parted ways, with Chermiin finishing off the chips in bed and throwing them away, stretching out with her arms behind her helm. Life in Garrus-9 wasn’t terrible. The guards were mostly friendly, and the warden wasn’t insufferable. Her name was Campe. She was nice enough, but her junxie was a sweetspark! Since Campe and her conjunx lived on the premises, they made their food here too, and sometimes her conjunx baked cookies and passed them around. Of course, she made cookies for one cell block at a time (after all, she’d be baking for forever and a day if it was one cookie per person) but the cookie distribution was still pretty even. And outside time was nice. Life here wasn’t bad.

 

_ No, _ Chermiin mused as she closed her eyes and started to drift off,  _ not bad at all.  _

 

She was woken the next morning for rations by Tracks clanging his fists together as he strolled down the cell block aisle, calling that it was time to get up. Chermiin yawned widely, remembering with a little smile that her painting class was today. A large group of restricted people needed things to keep them busy, and the prison offered programs. Chermiin had signed up for painting, which was held twice a week, library work (every day -- she wasn't huge on reading the datapads, but she loved to organize them) and then she helped a volunteer group pack supplies for the front lines the other days. And yeah, they went to  _ Autobot _ front lines, but really, what did she care? It wasn’t like she’d be getting out of here anytime soon. And on a certain level, she didn’t even really feel involved anymore. Her spark had settled. This was where she was supposed to be, and Chermiin took comfort in that. Years ago, a guard named Jackpot had asked her why she didn’t try to escape. She had told him that when she was a rhetorician, she felt like all she could do was punch things. Then, when she reached the front lines, she discovered that she didn’t much  _ care _ for punching things.

 

“So what, you let yourself get captured?” Jackpot had said, and Chermiin had tilted her help up and to the side, optics cutting the same way. Her mouth had shrugged, orange lip paint gleaming in the light. 

 

“I wouldn’t so much call it that,” she had hedged. “It was a little more serendipitous. Take your blessings as they come, and all.”

 

She was jolted out of her groggy daze by Tracks whistling. “Yo, Chermiin! Get up, sleepyhead, it’s time for breakfast.”

 

“Coming!” Chermiin yawned, rising and stretching. She ended it with a fullbody shiver and a shake of her plating. “Whew. I dunno about you, but I slept great.”

 

“I slept fine,” Tracks said, waving her along as cell doors opened, allowing prisoners to shuffle out. They milled around in a sort of oblong crowd, rubbing sleep from their eyes. “C’mon guys, at least try to get in a line? Guiding Hand, you make my job hard on purpose.”

 

“‘Course we do,” Chermiin bandied, grinning as she fell into the crowd, which was slowly filtering into a line as people chatted, and some of the more angry, obstinate ones didn’t move. “Gotta keep you sharp, Tracks.”

 

“Yeah,” Tracks scoffed, mouth quirking like he was fighting a grin. He put his hands to his mouth like a megaphone, raising his voice to project. “Just so you guys know, nobody can go get breakfast until you’re all mostly in a line. Mostly. I’m not looking for perfection.”

 

All but the most defiant fell into place, and Chermiin looked back as Tracks sighed, shoulders slumping as his hands fell. “Guys… c’mon, man…. guys, really. You really don’t have to make it this difficult.”

 

“Fuck you, Autobot,” one snapped, and Tracks sighed harder, and Chermiin watched a hand drift closer to the baton strapped to his hip, just in case. 

 

“Seriously Roadkill, you do this every day. Just get in line and we can all get on with our lives.”

 

Chermiin chimed in, frowning a little. “Yeah, bud, you’re holding up other people who want to get something to eat.”

 

“You’re just like these Autobots,” Roadkill snarled, rounding on her. “You’ve turned on your people and your species! You’re a traitor, and they’ll find you -- they’ll work their way down to you and life won’t be so good anymore.” Tracks watched the situation develop, hand now resting on his baton. Chermiin frowned, confused. She hadn’t kept up with outside world things, not really. Who were they?

 

“Roadkill,” Tracks warned. “Cool it.”

 

“You know what,” Roadkill snapped, starting to advance with his shoulders squared up. “I’ve had enough-”

 

Tracks pulled out his baton and took him down with a few precise hits, just enough to get him down to be cuffed. “Okay,” Tracks wheezed, hauling Roadkill to his feet. “You’re going back in your cell for the day and someone’s gonna bring you your rations, got it?”

 

Roadkill just swore at him, and as the door closed, the other obstinates reluctantly fell into line. Finally, the group went to breakfast. As Chermiin sat with her food, Tracks drifted by her on his way to his next post. “Hey, you alright?”

 

“Yeah,” Chermiin answered, turning around to face him in her chair. “It's just… who’s the ‘they’ Roadkill was talking about?”

 

Tracks’ eyes searched her face, trying to discern if she was serious. “You don't know.”

 

Chermiin gestured around. “I'm not exactly connected.”

 

“What, you Cons don't gossip?”

 

Chermiin shrugged. “Not about war stuff, at least not to me. I don't wanna hear it.”

 

“A little while ago, Megatron made a Decepticon Justice Division,” Tracks said grimly. “They hunt down and torture traitors. They have a List.”

 

“That’s awful,” Chermiin said, eyebrows knitting together. “So what, Roadkill was saying I’m on the List?”

 

“Probably,” Tracks admitted. “Most Con prisoners of war are.”

 

“Huh.” Chermiin frowned. “That’s…”

 

“You okay? Here, I’ve gotta get to my post. Walk with me. Take your food.”

 

Chermiin did as asked, following him out of the mess hall and to another cell block. Along the way, they passed two other guards talking, and both waved. “Hey Tracks, Chermiin,” one of them said, and Chermiin waved back. 

 

“Hey!”

 

When they passed, Chermiin sighed. “Yeah, I’m okay, I’m just… I’m just thinking of a friend. I didn't think she’d ever let something like this happen.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Flux,” Chermiin answered. “I wish…” she sighed heavily again. “All I’m saying is that maybe if Flux was leader, we wouldn't be in as big a mess as we are now.”

 

Tracks shrugged as Chermiin sipped her food. “Can’t do much about what ifs. I think I heard something about what you're talking about, though. Last I heard, she drove the notion into the ground for five years. Some sort of political upset happened though, I think. Megatron isn't the kind of guy that likes his subordinates to get too uppity.”

 

“He’s changed so much,” Chermiin murmured, frowning. Tracks shrugged again.

 

“He’s revealing his true colors. I should let you get back to mess hall. Someone’s coming by on their rounds in about thirty minutes, but honestly, we have cameras. You can just go so you don't miss activity roundup.”

 

Chermiin nodded, downing the last of her cube. “Good luck on the rest of your shift, Tracks.”

 

“Thanks. Now get going.”

 

“Alright, alright! What are you, some kinda prison guard?” Chermiin laughed, walking away as Tracks chuckled. She made her way back to the mess hall as everyone was lining up to split off, and she fell into line, feeling pretty good. Then it was off to activity, as prisoners fanned out to their various slotted activities. Chermiin was well aware that prison was not all rust sticks and sunshine -- there were days where she didn’t want to be anywhere near here -- but… if she was here, then she wasn’t with the Cons, and that counted for something. She settled in to paint, thoughts quieting. 

 

Her neighbor leaned over, brush held between their six fingers of their left hand. “Hey, have you heard? Campe’s retiring.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah, I heard it from someone the other day. The word is, she’s moving to minimum security next year.”

 

“What for?”

 

“Just looking for a change of scenery is my best guess. There’s a rumor going around that it’s a semi-retirement so she can work on music. Apparently she was some big musician before she was in the Pits.”

 

“No kidding. I knew was that she was some kind of gladiator, but I didn’t know she was a musician. I mean, I know she can play the cyberbass and stuff… but all I knew was that she was some kind of gladiator because of her beastmode.”

 

“Some kind of? You know she beat Megatron, right? Once. The Senate was trying to finish him off, so they threw the two in together. She beat him, and the ring attendants tried to get her to finish the job when the two split off to lick their wounds. She wouldn’t have it, insisting the fight was over. I was in the stands. That was a big match. It was so packed, people were standing in the aisles. She actually threw a ring attendant into the ring.”

 

“No kidding! That’s crazy.”

 

“Yeah. Word is, she was in the symphony that played…” the person cleared their throat, eyes looking around. A droplet of paint dripped onto their knee from where they sat cross-legged. “Word is, she was in the symphony that played --” their voice hushed to a whisper that Chermiin strained to hear, “--  _ the Empyrean Suite. The  _ **_famous_ ** _ rendition. _ ”

 

“Why’s it famous? I mean, I know it’s an old pretty song, but…”

 

“That’s the one the DJD is real fond of.”

 

“Oh, really? That’s scary…”

 

“Mhm. But yeah, I think she’s staying through the end of the year and then moving to Garrus-2. A real club Senator kind of spot. I hope we don’t get an asshole in her place.”

 

“Is Whirlygig going with her?”

 

“Yeah, I think so. They don’t wanna be far apart, which is fair. But I think the place is bringing in another psych, so it’s not like people are going to go without care.”

  
  


\-------------------

 

“Hey, are you sure about this?” Transpose fretted, needles in her fingertips clinking as she wrung her hands. She only had mnemosurgery needles in the topmost set of hands, and her middle hands transformed into a laser scalpel and a pair of forceps respectively. “This isn’t exactly ethical, Clout.”

 

“You don’t need to worry about ethics, you do what your commander says you do,” Clout said, as Flux lay on the medibay table between them. Transpose had seen her brought in. Initial scans showed that Clout had likely slipped her something in a drink. Transpose ran Clout’s medibay on her ship as CMO, but she had been a mnemosurgeon in her past life. The femme quibbled, holding up a needleless index finger.

 

“Actually, as a medical professional, ethics is  _ most _ of what I need to worry about,” she started to say, and Clout frowned at her. She ducked down a little, but tried to persist. “And as your CMO, I really have to recommend against this kind of unnecessary procedure-”

 

“Recommendation noted and ignored,” Clout said, “she’s too much of a leaking spark and she saw something I didn’t want her to. Megatron says it’s my job to keep her on a leash and I can’t well do that if she doesn’t like me very much.”

 

“Really Clout I have to insist, as your CMO my authority supersedes yours in medical matters-”

 

“Oh yeah? Does your authority supersede mine when I report you to the DJD for disobeying a direct command from your superior, Transpose? Does your authority supersede mine when they rip off all six arms of yours and feed them to you?”

 

The mnemosurgeon shut up, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as she glanced at Flux’s face. Her six arms drew themselves in a little more closely. “Well… um…”

 

“Look. Just get it done, okay? Don’t put it on the record and nobody has to know about it. You don’t have to change her personality or anything, Primus, just a little memory wipe.”

 

Transpose resisted the urge to say that this was a very serious procedure and not just a “little memory wipe” and nodded. Clout patted her shoulder, ignoring her flinch, and left, closing the door behind herself. Transpose’s two bottom-most hands wrung themselves over and over. She had two sets of whole arms, and then on the bottom set, she had two sets of forearms. Having six hands certainly came in handy for medicine.

 

She scuttled over to Flux, frowning, and hesitantly lined up her needles to go in. “Sorry, Major General,” she mumbled, spark torn between her own moral compass and the acute desire to keep all of her arms exactly where they belonged. “Nothing personal…”

 

She gently sunk the needles in and began the injection, delving into Flux’s memories to look for the unwanted scene. She perused through memories as if thumbing through files in a cabinet, mumbling. She saw Clout’s supposed apology and a drink before all went dark, and she buried it, knowing that would raise suspicion. She could feel Flux’s consciousness stirring, but still deep asleep, and she gave herself a couple of seconds to fret neurotically before moving on. She’d heard about what Flux had done to Cephalon of Tesaurus, and she had no desire to follow in his footsteps. She searched a little more frantically, deleting or burying incriminating memories as she found them (but only if they pertained to Clout). Flux was smart enough to withstand Clout’s charisma, Transpose was certain. This wouldn’t hurt in the long run, right?

 

“Oh, gosh,” the mnemosurgeon wembled, spark jittery. Finally, she found the source of the problem. Watching it play out, she cringed and gagged as she felt all of Flux’s emotional attachment to the memory through the connection. Transpose could practically taste the vomit in her own mouth and resisted the urge to empty her tanks as well. She deleted the memory immediately, and separated, body sagging against the side of the bed. Her struts ached with tension and drained effort.

 

Shaking out her hands, Transpose cleaned off her needles with antiseptic and monitored Flux’s vitals, guilt gnawing at her. This really wasn’t ethical. There wasn’t even a semblance of informed consent! Then again, Transpose guessed that the DJD wouldn’t be searching for consent when they fed her to Tesaurus’s shredder heels-first. She frittered the minutes away, waiting for Flux to wake up with growing anxiety and nausea. Finally, the plane stirred, groaning quietly. Transpose flitted back over, lobster-claw heels clacking on the ground, just as Flux’s yellow eyes slid open.

 

“Major General, are you feeling alright?” Transpose said, voice wobbly as she brushed the back of a hand over the plane’s forehelm. “You had a really nasty bout of fuel poisoning there, you slept through the day.”

 

“Did I?” Flux groaned, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “I guess that’s why I don’t remember a lot… did I have nightmares or something? There’s just… a bad feeling.”

 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you had some vivid dreams,” Transpose said, nervously. “Who knows what that fuel did. I siphoned it out, let me get you some good food.” 

 

“Thank you,” Flux murmured, and accepted the cube that Transpose’s middle hands passed her. As she sipped it, the door opened, and Transpose nearly cringed at seeing Clout’s face even though she had done as the tank asked. Clout grinned at Flux.

 

“Hey, feeling better?”

 

“Uh, yeah, Transpose told me what was wrong. Sorry I got so sick.” Flux shook her head, sipping continuously at the fuel as if she was trying to pace herself, wary to the possibility of getting ill once again. Transpose was just bursting at the seams to tell her she had never been sick in the first place -- but she couldn’t, so instead she just mumbled about cleaning up and bustled away, eavesdropping from nearby.

 

Clout shook her head. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. It was real nasty there for a hot minute. Transpose is a wonderful little doctor though, I wasn’t that worried.”

 

Flux laughed along, but Transpose could tell something was bothering her. She had good instincts -- even with the altering Transpose had done, it looked like Flux could tell something was off. The mnemosurgeon was undeniably, secretly, a little proud.

  
  


\------------------------

  
  


“So,” Haven said, “Garrus-10, huh?”

 

“Oh, yes,” Thinstreak said, extending his hand to help Haven out of the shuttle as they stepped foot on the planet. “It’s certainly something, that’s for sure. Dent, are you coming or not?”

 

“Gotta get the new recruits organized,” Dent called back from further in the ship, and Thinstreak just brushed him off with a small “pfft” noise. 

 

“Well, while he’s doing that, I say we go ahead and go inside,” Thinstreak said, conspiratorially, and led Haven through the front gates from the outdoor shuttle bay. The doors were austere, comparable to the rest of the building. The inside was bleak, with bulletin boards up here or there in guards’ break centers or down the non-prisoner access hallways. They got to the clinic, and Haven looked around as the doors opened, taking in the specs. It was a fairly large clinic, with lots to work with and beds lined up against the west wall. Curtains were available to be pulled around each one, and a couple of exam berths were in the center of the room, with a few more in a room vaguely visible from the front. Haven nodded with a keen eye, walking around and inspecting. Tools were nicely set up and sorted, drawers were all neatly labeled. Whoever this Seabrine was, he had an excellent system. 

 

The door to one of the closed room opened, and a younger hydrofoil came out, smiling at the new arrivals. “Hey there y’all. Thinstreak, have you got someone to replace me so I can get the hell outta dodge --” his eyes lit on Haven, and his face drifted into one of shock. “Aren’t you Haven of Helex?”

 

“That’s me,” Haven answered, nerves blooming slightly. Seabrine came out of his office further, eyes wide. 

 

“I thought you were dead! What’s with the Autobot badge? Wasn’t it big news that you-”

 

“Didn’t join in the war?” Haven interrupted, smile tight. “Yeah, crazy rumor right? Me joining the Cons and all. I’ve just been drifting.”

 

Seabrine nodded, mouth closing, getting that Haven was apparently trying to keep his past private. The older doctor felt a surge of relief. “Well, hell, I’m glad they found someone. I wanna get the hell outta here. No offense, Thinstreak, but any planet that’s got Messatine as its closest neighbor ain’t one that I wanna call home.”

 

“Warden put the papers in today, so keep your plating on,” Thinstreak laughed. Haven felt his cheeks warm and he looked away, resisting the urge to smile. “He says it’ll probably be a month or two before they find a place to put you.”

 

“Aw, great,” Seabrine said, “I’m on my way outta here  _ and _ I get to study under Haven of Helex. This guy’s a rockstar of a doctor.”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Haven said bashfully, scuffing a foot. “Just forged as a doctor and too caught up in work for my own good.”

 

“Well we do love a workaholic,” Thinstreak said, and then laughed, hand coming to rest on Haven’s top shoulder flirtily. It fell away after a couple of moments. “I’ll leave you two to get settled, but um… Haven, about an hour away there’s a nice city with a lot of neat places to go, would you like to have dinner?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I’d like that,” Haven responded, spark fluttery. He and Thinstreak hadn’t really started dating -- at least, he didn’t think so -- but it had felt really close lately. Seabrine’s mouth fell open and his eyes blew wide again.

 

“You dirty ‘fox,” he said to Thinstreak, pushing his shoulder. “Look at you! Alright, I see what’s goin’ on here, I see it. Go on, get. Out of here, I have some gossip to cover. And Haven’s gotta meet our residential medic.”

 

“You’ve got someone here in a residency?” Haven asked, suddenly excited. Oh, he loved mentoring new medics. It was very nearly his passion, other than the trade itself. 

 

“Oh, yeah! He’s a good kid, used to work on Tebba. His shift ain’t for a little while. So, I assume you know the workings of a medibay back and forwards?”

 

“You’d be about right.”

 

“Thought so. I’ll just show you where everything is. Forward you the prison’s rules, stuff like that. You know, new guy stuff. They’re bringing you on to replace me as CMO, so you don’t have to worry about climbing the ladder I guess. Though, you’re you. So, have you ever had to worry about that? I don’t think so. Come on, right this way, yeah, okay, come on and have a look around…” 

  
  


\------------------------

  
  


Flux walked down the hall of the Nemesis, straight to the medibay. She was a creature of habit, she supposed. And she was guiltily a little relieved to be off of Clout’s ship. She liked the tankformer, but Clout could be a little loud and pushy sometimes. And Flux couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She was probably just overreacting. It was fine. 

 

She got to the medibay door and knocked, peeking in. The new CMO was at her desk, and turned grumpily. “Yeah?”

 

“Hey, Havoc, right?” Flux smiled and came over, producing a bag of open chips she’d been snacking on. “Hope I’m not bothering you during your shift.”

 

“I’m on break. What do you want?”

 

Flux shrugged, smiling and offering the bag a little more plainly. “Nothing much. Chips?”

 

Havoc eyed her and then slowly shoved her hand into the bag, rustling around until she came back with a handful. “What, you’re just here to gab?”

 

“Something like that,” Flux laughed, leaning against the wall by Havoc’s desk and eating a handful of chips herself. “Just ask Sunbeam, I kind of have a habit of gabbing with the medics.”

 

“What, do you have a medic kink or something?” Havoc didn’t look impressed. Flux nearly snorted chips out of her nose as she burst into giggles, trying to cover her mouth as she shook her head. Once she recovered, she shook it again. The medibay lights flickered bleakly, and even though the Nemesis’s medibay was pretty grand, it was packed enough to feel small. 

 

“No, hell no. Just a habit, I guess. Less politics involved, honestly. You don’t have to worry about Conclave vote this, or General that, or… you know.” Flux sighed. Havoc seemed to listen, even as she was intent on looking uninterested as she typed. Flux was pretty good at reading people, most of the time, and she monitored for any signs that Havoc actually wanted her to go away. “Just political things. Besides, I used to bring chips and chat with the CMO a couple guys before you.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Haven of Helex, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Flux sighed and scuffed a foot.

 

“What, you think I need your pity?”

 

“Who said you look like you need pity?” Flux wisecracked, pointedly looking Havoc up and down. “Actually, you look like you need a swift kick up the ass.”

 

Havoc’s typing stopped. “Do you even know who I am?”

 

Flux shrugged. “Not for nothing, but I’m three times your size. But that’s beside the point. Yeah, I know who you are. I’m just here to chat.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“How’s your day been?”

 

“Really?”

 

Flux shrugged again, smiling. “It’s a fair question! Hey, have you heard that they’ve got something really good coming to the mess hall in a couple of days? Scouts found a really good stash of some high-grade stuff when they raided some Autobot base and they’re passing it out for morale.”

 

“Is all you get excited about food?”

 

“Not everything,” Flux laughed, “Sometimes I get excited about pretty femmes. And good books.”

 

Havoc covered a tiny snort of a laugh and tried to conceal her smile. “So you like to read, I guess.”

 

“Oh, I love it. You?”

 

“I thought you said you knew who I was.”

 

“Yeah, my courtmate is like that, too,” Flux chuckled. She was really starting to like Havoc. “Anyways, I have to go, but see you again later maybe? Here, I’ll even leave the chips,” she joked, and placed them on Havoc’s desk. “Good luck on your work.”

 

Havoc grunted at her, but didn’t push the chips away. Flux took it as a good sign, but also as a confirmation that it was her cue to leave, and walked away, steps thunking on the floor. She had a Conclave meeting to get ready for, not that she was looking forward to it. Megatron had seemed different lately, more smug in the last few days. Like he was anticipating something. Flux shrugged it off with a bad feeling as she retreated back to her room, swishing her cape over her shoulders and settling it over her wings. She clipped it at the fibula pin, dusted any imperfections off, and set out for the meeting hall. Nearly there, she ran into Clout at an intersecting hall, the tankformer grinning when she clapped eyes on Flux. “Well hey there, stranger. You look nice.”

 

“Oh,” Flux demurred, cheeks heating. She couldn’t help it. She pushed the bad feeling in her tanks away and focused on how fluttery the compliment made her feel. “Thank you, you do too. Walk with me?”

 

“Sure.”

 

They did, in comfortable silence that Flux refused to let herself feel uncomfortable about. They arrived at the double doors and Clout reached over Flux to give them a push, wiggling her eyebrows in a flirty sort of gesture. It was the facial gesture equivalent of giving Flux a quick smack on the ass and the plane blushed, smiling before quietly thanking her and ducking into the hall. They split off to their different sides of the gallery in the middle of the floor, and Flux took her seat and tried to ignore the dread in her spark. She really just couldn’t shake the fact that something was wrong. Megatron was milling about at the front where he usually stood, talking in a hushed voice to Starscream. Deadlock sat in a chair by Megatron’s desk, inspecting his fingertip paint. One leg was crossed over his other knee at the ankle, and just a small portion of his truly impressive amount of guns hung from hip holsters. He looked terribly bored. He wasn’t here for very long -- just a quick visit, and then it was back to Turmoil’s ship. Flux didn’t care for Turmoil in the slightest and she wasn’t Deadlock’s biggest fan either. (She had a little more sympathy for Deadlock than Turmoil, however). When Deadlock visited, he had an all access pass to wherever Megatron wanted him, whether he had the official clearance or not.

 

People filed into place, and Megatron began the meeting. “Thank you all for coming. Without delay, let’s get started. First matter on the docket is a serious one, so why don’t we get it out of the way first?” Flux frowned, as Megatron lifted two fingers to his audial. “Tarn, could you grace us with your presence, if you would?”

 

The Conclave members lit up into a blaze of chatter, people shifting uncomfortably in their chairs. The doors burst open, and Tarn kicked something across the floor so it rolled to a stop in the center decal in the gallery floor. Four pairs of dull crystal blue eyes stared up at all present, as Praxaghora’s mouth hung open. Her neck cabling was sloppily sheared off, trailing to a stop past her neckline as Tarn came to a stop dramatically a few steps in front of the doors. He crossed his arms, and the black aura rolling off of him was so suffocatingly prideful and smug that Flux could barely breathe, eyes rooted to Praxaghora’s decapitated helm. She risked a glance at Tarn and found that he was staring at her, almost challenging her. Then she looked to Megatron. The warlord was almost serene, no evidence of horror or even guilt on his face. Deadlock sat up a little in his chair, head craning to see around him, disinterest written upon his features. Flux wasn’t sure how much of it was fake, but there was definitely some hint of real attention. How could there not be?

 

“This is what happens to those who decide traitorism is better than being one in the ranks of the gloried Decepticon army,” Megatron preached, gesturing to what was left of Praxaghora. Flux looked away from the head, feeling a little sick to her tanks -- both with horror and grief. “Senator Praxaghora of Iacon made the foolish call of aiding her conjunx in deserting and then attempting to desert herself.”

 

Flux couldn’t help herself. The words were almost ripped from her mouth. “Praxaghora wasn’t a Senator.”

 

All eyes turned to her. Tarn looked ready to kill her on the spot, as did Megatron. She was well aware she was interrupting his moment and she swallowed slightly.

 

“Are you suggesting she  _ wasn’t _ Senator Praxaghora, the Jewel of Iacon?” Megatron said, voice dangerous. Flux frowned and shook her head.

 

“Before the war, of course she was a Senator,” Flux said, “no one’s arguing that. But you’ve said it yourself. She renounced her status as a Senator when she joined us -- she wasn’t a Senator anymore.”

 

Whispers carried through the hall, and Megatron glanced at Tarn out of the corner of his eye. Tarn inclined his head and Megatron gave just the slightest quirk of his mouth downwards, arms crossing. Flux wasn’t sure, but she thought his hand subtly swiped in a “nix it” motion as his helm twitched, possibly in a shake. “Thank you ever so much for your correction, Major General. Is there anything else you wish to nitpick?”

 

Flux’s cheeks burned and she leaned back in her chair. “No, my liege. Sorry for the interruption.”

 

“Mm. As I was saying before I was put off track, this is the fruit of traitorous labor. Our very own  _ ex _ -Senator Praxaghora made a poor decision and ended up losing her life -- and her head.”

 

“We have not found Dunedealer yet,” Tarn continued, and Flux was both amazed and disgusted that he managed to sound smug whilst admitting defeat, “But we’re getting closer by the day. We all would do well to remember just what it is that we’re fighting for.”

 

“Genocide,” Flux mumbled under her breath, the fear in her spark still not enough to outweigh the righteous anger.

 

“Indeed,” Megatron said, “Well put, Tarn. Excellent work. Now, if you would, we have other matters to cover on the docket today. Thank you for your time.”

 

Tarn bowed deeply and turned, walking out and leaving Praxaghora’s head as a grisly reminder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a day late! what do yall think?


	12. Rancor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven and Thinstreak's relationship progresses and runs into a few minor bumps, someone new comes to Garrus-10, and Sunbeam talks to Havoc about his performance as a doctor. Capacitor is jealous that Gadget and Redouble are friends, so she starts actively lashing out against Gadget, who now has to handle the job of being a mnemosurgeon as well as a lab scientist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers:**
> 
> **none that I can see, but if you need anything tagged please let me know!**

Haven watched Thinstreak get up from the couch next to him. The lights were low, and the holovid screen across from the couch. “What's up?”

 

“Nothing, nothing, just keep watching the movie. I just have to go get something.” And he scurried off, into the bedroom off of the living room kitchen combo. They were in Thinstreak's quarters. Since Garrus-10 was so isolated, most guards found it more convenient to take advantage of the free board. Haven shrugged and turned back to the movie, yawning as he bounced his knee. Thinstreak came back in with a box of Haven's favorite cygarettes, all charged in advance, two bottles of twice-distilled fizzy engex, and two glasses. At a second glance, one of the bottles was non-engexic, and Haven’s spark was warm. Thinstreak had already thought about how Haven didn't drink. He sat back down next to Haven. “So, I have something to tell you and something to ask you.”

 

“Knock my plating off.”

 

Thinstreak laughed, leaning against the doctor. “I love you. I have great news. I'm getting a promotion!  _ You’re _ looking at the new warden of Garrus-10!”

 

“Congratulations, Teebs!” Haven slung one of his top arms around his courtmate's delicate shoulders as the other one under it fell to rub Thinstreak's thigh. The jet playfully smacked his hand. 

 

“You know I hate that silly nickname,” Thinstreak laughed, with no real venom or truth. Heaven grinned and shoved his nose into Thinstreak's cheek. 

 

“What, Teebs? What's wrong with it, Teebs? You don't like it?”

 

“No, I hate it!” Thinstreak cried out, giggling. The two settled down, the jet's helm having wound up on Haven's windshield as he contentedly listened to the doctor's spark. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

“I have something I want to ask you.” At that, Thinstreak grew more serious, sitting up and popping the corks on the bottles. The engex bottle foamed over. Thinstreak just slid a towel under it and let it overflow after he poured himself a glass. Then he poured Haven a glass of the sparkling energon and handed it to him. 

 

“Oh yeah? Something wrong?”

 

“No, no!” Thinstreak took a harried sip. “It's just…” he cleared his throat. “Haven, I love you so much. I knew that the day we met I was in love with you. And I… I hope that… with three out of four Acts under way, I hope this little speech serves as a suitable act of devotion. I'm not very rich any more. My family clan heirlooms are few and far between these days. Most of them were destroyed when Vos fell. But… Haven, will you conjunx me, and become a part of the Penna family clan?”

 

The doctor choked on the sip he was taking, the magnitude of the situation crashing into him. God, it all made sense now. The gift, the intimate story, done weeks ago, it all made sense. Haven coughed and recovered, beaming. “I am a moron,” he declared, “and I would love to be your conjunx.”

 

Thinstreak cried out in excitement and nearly tackled him, hug turning into a passionate kiss. Thinstreak was attempting to hook a leg over Haven's lap when his foot kicked over the bottle of engex and spilled it everywhere, causing both bots to shout and scramble to clean it up. “I'll put the papers in today,” Thinstreak chattered gleefully as they both knelt to clean up. “God, I'm so happy! Thank you, thank you…”

 

Haven smiled as he listened to his now soon-to-be conjunx chatter. God, he was in love with Thinstreak. The weeks between the ceremony passed like syrup, and they used the time to pick a small, private venue and hire a photographer. Haven felt like he was driving on clouds. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that his life would take such a turn. His bleak days on the  _ Nemesis _ seemed so distant so as not to even exist, a bad dream from long ago. He felt some semblance of happy, for what felt like the first time in his life. It was as if Primus had finally seen fit to bless him for once.

 

So naturally, months after Thinstreak had gotten the promotion and they'd officially been conjunxed, Thinstreak had to find out that Haven really had been a Con. They were chatting in the kitchen when Thinstreak pursed his lips and looked away.

 

“What's the matter?” Haven asked mildly, “Neck stiff again? You carry too much tension in your shoulders.”

 

“You're one to talk, four-arms,” Thinstreak joked, and then grew serious again. “Haven, can you tell me the truth?”

 

“Yeah, always.”

 

“That rumor about you having been a Decepticon… it wasn't a rumor, was it?”

 

“What… what makes you think that?” Haven stammered, spark freezing in icy dread. His past was a dead thing. It wasn't supposed to haunt him any more. Thinstreak shrugged.

 

“Saw your file. I was doing a routine check of employee files and it listed your transfer.”

 

Haven sighed heavily. “Uh. Yeah, I was… I was a Decepticon.”

 

Thinstreak nodded, banefully quiet. Haven's gut twisted. The jet spoke. “Why didn't you tell me?”

 

“I… I was hoping Primus saw fit to consign that bit of my history to the dust,” Haven confessed. “I wanted a fresh start, and I… I was in love with you, still am, and I didn't think I could bear seeing you look at me knowing that I had served on the  _ Nemesis _ .”

 

Thinstreak hugged himself, chuckling bitterly. “On the  _ Nemesis _ , eh? Now he tells me.”

 

“It was a bad idea and I was aware of that a little too late,” Haven defended, “I'm still the same Autobot you conjunxed! Thinstreak, I  _ faked my own death _ to get away from them, all so I could start a new life as an Autobot!”

 

The jet listened, nodding, and sighed, coming over to kiss and hug Haven. The doctor was a bit wary at first, and then he melted into it, nearly crying in relief. Thinstreak murmured into his audial. “Of course. I'm sorry, you're right. It doesn't matter now. Let me make it up to you. Dinner after your shift, on me. You don't even have to dry the dishes.”

 

Haven sagged even further in a different kind of relief. “God, thank you,” he sighed, exhausted. The matter seemed to fade away, as the months turned into years. Haven noticed Thinstreak getting testier (always with others, never with him), more demanding, more commanding. He had the sinking suspicion that he'd swapped one  _ Nemesis _ for another, and when he lay awake at night on bad depression nights, he cursed himself for having a type that apparently covered nothing but high-class Vosians (he'd had a little crush on Virtue as well, if he was entirely honest). The doctor felt a little bad about assuming the worst. After all, Thinstreak did his best to keep work from bleeding into his private life. But when he came to Haven on his shift in the clinic with a new mandate for anti-transformation technology to be used on prisoners, Haven gaped at it.

 

“What in the hell is this?”

 

“High command's order for these transformation inhibitors to be phased in. We're starting with A block in a week.”

 

“Like  _ hell _ we are,” Haven hissed, snatching the datapad away. “Expansion into the brain? What are we, Decepticons? The bad kind? Tell them there is no way-”

 

“It was in motion long before I was promoted,” Thinstreak interrupted, trying to placate. He looked older, tired, frustrated. His handsome face seemed scored with frown lines. “It was conditional for the job. They want to keep the rats contained.”

 

“Teebs, listen to yourself! This isn't -- this isn't ethical. What do I look like, the doctor at Grindcore?”

 

“A lot of these prisoners are Con prisoners of war,” Thinstreak led, taking the datapad back. “Are you sure you're not letting your sympathies blind you?”

 

Haven nearly exploded. “Sympathies?  _ Sympathies? _ How dare y-” he cut himself off, suddenly tearing up. He turned away, eyes closing as he took several deep breaths to get his temper under control. “I need to walk away from this for right now. I'm going out for a smoke.”

 

“Mhm.” Thinstreak did look a little sheepish. “I apologize. That was out of line.”

 

Haven nodded and threw him a halfsparked smile before making his way through the winding halls and out the front gate. He stood on the concrete plaza out by the front gates, taking out a cygarette with shaking fingers and lighting it, watching the glowing blue tip come to life. He put it to his lips and took a deep, deep breath, exhaling a cloud of smoke. He stood there for what felt like hours, allowing the crisp, cold air to wake him up. He took another drag, and looked up to blow the smoke to the clouds when he noticed a massive ship cruise into airspace and release a shuttle. The larger ship soared back up into the overcast cloud cover, but the shuttle descended. It certainly wasn't prison regulation, and it was a very familiar shade of purple… 

 

Haven's eyes widened, but by then the ship was landing, the hatch dropping. Footsteps, decisive and purposeful, sounded, and a great purple mass of the last person Haven wanted to see stepped out. The doctor very nearly dropped his cygarette, but hurriedly got a better grip on it and took another drag, in a daze. 

 

“Tarn. What a pleasure. Have you come to kill me?”

 

The tank seemed almost surprised to see him, as the rest of his group filled out behind him. Helex summed it up best: “Fuck, you aren't dead?”

 

“Had you goin’, didn't I?” Haven joked bleakly, putting the finishing touches on a will he wrote years ago and sending a comm to Thinstreak telling the jet that Haven loved him. Then he looked down, cygarette clenched in his teeth as he scuffed the ground with one foot. “Had everybody going.” 

 

Tarn was oddly quiet. Then he spoke. “Well, doctor, I'm not sure whether to congratulate you for your cleverness, or smelt you down in Helex's furnace for your treason.”

 

“I find that very hard to believe,” Haven said blearily, huffing a sigh as his achy shoulders slouched. “Well? Am I going aboard the shuttle, or are you just going to do it right here?”

 

“Unfortunately, you weren’t the matter on the docket today, although you have been added to the List,” Tarn brushed aside. A little behind him, Kaon nodded gravely. “So if you could take me inside to speak to the warden, that would be wonderful.”

 

“Tee -- Thinstreak? What's this got to do with him?”

 

“Join us, and you'll find out,” Tarn said. “Now, please. If you would.”

 

Haven sized him up for a moment and sighed, flicking out his cygarette before scrubbing his face tiredly in two hands. “Godddd… alright. This way.” He turned and walked through the gates, not looking to see if Tarn was following him. He walked through the halls, comming Thinstreak to meet him in the warden's office. It was an emergency. 

 

By the time they got to the office and Haven knocked, Thinstreak opened it immediately, hands coming to cup Haven’s face. “Oh my sweet darling what’s the matter are you alright? I got your-” He trailed off as his eyes strayed behind Haven to take in Tarn, and Haven watched them widen. “...message.”

 

“We have some company,” Haven summed up dully. “I was asked to escort him to see you.”

 

Thinstreak pulled Haven in by the face and pushed him into his chest, arms tight and protective. “What do you want?”

 

“Nothing with Haven, at the present moment,” Tarn drawled. “Now, are you going to let me into your office or shall I just stand here like a vagabond?”

 

Thinstreak swallowed hard and let Haven go, murmuring “back to the clinic with you, please”. Haven frowned, but Thinstreak pushed him away, and the doctor sighed. 

 

“Well, you know where to find me,” he addressed at large, and started to walk away.

 

“We always do, Doctor,” Tarn called over his shoulder, before disappearing into Thinstreak’s office. Haven swiped a hand, his griping heard down the hallway before he rounded the bend.

 

“Ach,” he grumbled over his shoulder. “You thought I was dead!”

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


“Hey, kid.” 

 

“Mm?” Sunbeam glanced over at Havoc. Despite not recognizing faces any more, Sunbeam could always recognize her. She had that gnarly, grisly scar where she’d ripped off her Autobrand. “Yes, sir?”

 

“Talk to me.” Havoc waved him over. The medibay was quiet, for once. Starscream hadn’t been in a few days, and things were pretty still on the  _ Nemesis _ . There had been that terrible business with Praxaghora, but that had since passed. Sunbeam had nearly emptied his tanks when the ex-lieutenant’s head had been brought in for proper disposal. And if he wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn he saw Virtue of Vos hanging around for an hour or so after that, although he wasn’t sure what the head of Starscream’s security wanted with the head of a former Senator. That is, if it even was Virtue. Sunbeam was pretty sure. 

 

But for now, he just scurried over to Havoc and clasped his hands. “Yes?”

 

“Ease up, kid. You’re way too tense. Come on, sit down.” And so Sunbeam did, pulling up a chair. Havoc had her feet propped up on her desk. “You’re a good doctor, you know. Haven taught you, right? Yeah. Ratchet taught me, and from what I’ve heard, he was a good doc. Seriously, you’ve got the skills and you’ve got the manner. I’ve noticed you hold yourself back sometimes.”

 

“Oh, I… I suppose so?”

 

“You’re not in trouble, don’t worry about it. But really. I don’t want you pulling your own reins for some reason. You’ve got the skills, like I said. Show ‘em off. You might not have forged medic hands, but they’re damn good hands nonetheless. Kardyo’s a has-been. As far as I can tell, he likes to take that out on everyone else.”

 

“He said that he was an asshole, but that he’d make me a better doctor.”

 

“That’s a load of shit,” Havoc said bluntly, “He’s just a dick. You’re already a good doctor. And granted, always room for improvement and shit, but come on. You’re acting like a nurse still. I wanna see physician. Got it?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Good. You’re doing a good job.” 

 

Sunbeam’s cheeks heated and he smiled as he got up, putting his chair back and going back to what he was doing. “Thank you, sir!” 

 

He knew Havoc had a reputation -- and a well earned one at that -- but he was finding that she really wasn’t that bad, as long as you did your job and you respected her space. She was a really good boss, actually! Much better than Kardyo. 

 

Kardyo… Sunbeam was still having to get used to ranking above him. The ex-doctor had gotten no less bitter about his demotion, and still treated Sunbeam as a nurse when Havoc wasn’t around. Sunbeam knew that technically he could order Kardyo to cut it out, but it didn’t feel right. He felt like he was being insubordinate, somehow. He hadn’t told Havoc about it, hoping the problem would go away on its own. He knew it wouldn’t, but… he could hope. Right? Either way, maybe Havoc would find out on her own and he wouldn’t have to tell her.

 

As Sunbeam went back to his busy work, his schedule pinged him. Seconds later, the doors opened, and in strode Megatron. He was one of those people that Sunbeam could recognize nearly instantly as well. There was just a way he carried himself. The young doctor could also recognize Major General Flux for much the same reason -- and the fact that she never changed her frame. He’d brought it up once as idle chatter and she’d cheerfully said “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”.

 

For now, he swallowed nerves and approached Lord Megatron. “Afternoon, my lord. You’re here for your general checkup, I presume?”

 

“Yes.” Megatron was all business as he picked a berth and went to sit on it, stony quiet as Sunbeam began the scan. A few minor dents and issues pinged him. 

 

“Well, you’re looking in remarkably good health,” he said, absentmindedly, and Megatron tossed him another noncommittal sound. It sounded a bit more grateful than nonplussed, however. “Yes sir, healthy as an equinoid, which is good -- glory to the Cons and all that good stuff -- uh, but there are a few dings here and there. Would you like me to fix them?”

 

“I suppose, while I’m here. Will it take very long?”

 

“No sir, I’ll have them fixed in a jif.”

 

“Then go ahead. How have your migraines been, Sunbeam?”

 

“Oh!” Sunbeam exclaimed, cheeks heating a little. Megatron had remembered that? He seemed so impassive… The doctor brushed it aside and began to work, hands flying nimbly. “They’re uh, they’re good. Light seems to be a trigger, which is why I installed my lovely visor here, and that helps a lot. I think the most annoying thing about my head injury has to be the prosopagnosia. Especially since Kardyo gets on my case about it,” Sunbeam grumbled the last bit mostly to himself, but he saw Megatron’s mouth shrug slightly. 

 

“Does he, now?”

 

“Oh, only a little,” Sunbeam said, suddenly nervous. Kardyo was the dear of the DJD, or more particularly, Tarn. The two seemed awfully close, and he didn’t want to be badmouthing Tarn’s alleged lover in front of someone who came into regular contact with the monster. “Just uh, doctor’s ragging, you know.”

 

“Do tell me if it gets worse, Sunbeam.” Megatron moved suddenly, a hand lifting to cup Sunbeam’s cheek. He was terribly charismatic, as if he knew that Sunbeam had been nursing a little crush. He couldn’t help it, he liked big frames, and Megatron had charisma coming out of his audials. “After all, it wasn’t your fault that Wrecker shot you. If Kardyo has a problem with that, he can take it up with me. Hm?”

 

“O-of course, sir,” Sunbeam floundered, cheeks hot, and offered an appeasing smile. He hoped Megatron couldn’t feel how scalding his face was. The warlord gave his cheek a pat and dropped his arm.

 

“Good. Thank you, doctor -- that will be all. Unfortunately, I can’t spend my hours chatting with good company, as I have work to do. In your medical opinion, am I free to go?”

 

“Oh, uh… uh yes sir, you’re fine.”

 

“Thank you. Remember what I said, won’t you?”

 

“Of course, sir.”

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


Gadget walked into Tebba’s medibay for a routine checkup, and was greeted by Aberhalde. The helicopter looked as cheerful as ever, flouncing over to give Gadget a cheek kiss. “Hello there, darling! Come on over and hop up on the bed. How’s that visor doing?”

 

“IT’S GREAT, THANKS.” Gadget didn’t pay much mind to the question. Aberhalde asked about her visor every time she came in for a checkup.

 

“Excellent, excellent,” Aberhalde noted, already starting to scan. “Looking good, looking good. So, what’s on your agenda for today, Gadget?”

 

“WORK. BUT AFTER THAT, REDOUBLE AND I ARE GOING TO HANG OUT. MAYBE WATCH A MOVIE. HE FOUND SOME NATURE DOCUMENTARY HE’S REALLY INTO, SO I MIGHT JOIN HIM FOR THAT.”

 

“Sounds fun,” the doctor said absentmindedly, running a few special scans on Gadget’s visor and evidently pleased with the results. “Okay, lemme just check your wires here…  you’re doing a great job with the maintenance, Gadget, bravo.”

 

The checkup was routine and painless, and Gadget was being dismissed within minutes. She ran to grab ReDouble from the end of his shift so they could hurry to catch an empty rec room. Now that she’d told Aberhalde about it, she was admittedly more excited. ReDouble was too, and the two scientists tittered joyfully about the rare opportunity to forget their troubles. ReDouble set up the holovid screen, jumping back onto the couch next to Gadget and bouncing once before he was situated. The opening credits came on screen, and the empurata fidgeted. Even though she and ReDouble did this kind of regularly, part of her was still grateful and elated that she could watch TV that wasn’t in a dingy, dim bar. ReDouble seemed distracted, though, and not in his usual way. Gadget glanced over at him, pausing the documentary. “WHAT’S UP?”

 

“Oh, nothing, you can keep playing it,” ReDouble said apologetically. “Cap’s just comming me, that’s all.”

 

“OH. CAN YOU TELL HER YOU’RE BUSY? WE WERE SUPPOSED TO WATCH THIS TOGETHER.”

 

ReDouble sighed and then smiled. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll let her know.” He seemed to send another comm, and pressed play on the remote. Then he leaned into Gadget’s shoulder and she slouched into the lean, so the two were almost propping each other up. It was nice to have a good friend like ReDouble. Gadget had never really had a friend like him before, if she was being honest. He was a lot different from Dropthing. With Dropthing, Gadget had felt a reliance -- as if he was her only lifeline to social interaction. As if she had been dependent on him for something, and he was taking without giving. But ReDouble felt as if they were giving and taking in equal measure -- a free flow of emotional effort across the bond. It felt good. It felt right. Gadget let her helm plunk against the side of ReDouble’s and felt his field flicker with affection. He grabbed her claw.

 

“Thank you,” he said, “Not many people like to put up with… this,” he said, gesturing to the nature documentary but meaning something much broader. “I talk too much, and I fidget too much, and I can’t get myself to stay on task…”

 

Gadget shrugged. “I CAN’T LOOK PEOPLE IN THE EYE VERY WELL. I DON’T LIKE TOUCHING PEOPLE. CODING IS MY ONLY BIG INTEREST. NOISES ARE TOO LOUD MOST OF THE TIME. IT’S NOT PUTTING UP WITH YOU, REE. YOU’RE MY FRIEND.”

 

“Thanks,” he said, quietly. “Love you.”

 

“LOVE YOU TOO, REE. CAN WE WATCH THE FROGS ON SCREEN?”

 

“Yeah,” ReDouble laughed, and Gadget was a little puzzled because she hadn’t meant for that to be a joke, “we can watch the frogs on screen.”

 

They watched for a little while longer until the doors opened. Footsteps strode in and Capacitor leaned over the back of the chair. “And just what’s going on here, huh?”

 

“We’re watching some Ulthosian documentary,” ReDouble explained. He may have missed the daggers Capacitor glared at the points of contact between him and Gadget, but Gadget certainly didn’t. She separated. “It’s very interesting. Do you wanna watch with us?”

 

“Nah. I actually needed to talk to Gadget for a minute.”

 

“Oh. I’ll pause it, then.”

 

Gadget got up, apprehension blooming, and gestured for Capacitor to lead the way. The plane grumpily started walking and Gadget rushed to catch up, as the doors to the hallway closed behind them. The plane rounded on the empuratee. “Holding hands, huh?”

 

“I ALREADY TOLD YOU, CAPACITOR. REDOUBLE’S NOT MY TYPE. I’M NOT INTO MECHS. BESIDES, IS THIS ALL YOU WANTED TO TALK TO ME ABOUT? AREN’T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE DOING COMMANDER STUFF SINCE YOU --”

 

“Shh,” Capacitor hissed, and for a moment Gadget saw Unicron in the horrible yellow of her optics. “Make that accusation one more time and I’ll have you brought before a tribunal. I have an assignment for you, top secret. Here are the details.”

 

She passed Gadget a datapad. The scientist looked it over, and then looked up at Capacitor.

 

“BUT I DON’T DO THIS KIND OF WORK.”

 

“You do the work your commander says you do, lest you be written up for insubordination.”

 

“NO, I MEAN I LITERALLY DON’T DO THIS. THIS ISN’T MY JOB. I’M A SCIENTIST. I DON’T WORK AT THE INSTITUTE. HOW LONG HAVE WE BEEN HOLDING THIS MECH, ANYWAYS?”

 

“Gadget, I don’t much care how you get results, I just want them,” Capacitor said, exasperatedly. “You have the highest productivity rate in the department and you have a background in malware and mnemosurgery.”

 

“CAPACITOR, I WAS NEVER TRAINED IN MNEMOSURGICALLY INSERTING VIRUSES. ALL OF MINE WERE PRAXIAN EQUINOIDS OR, OR WORMS OR TRANSMITTED BY SOUND --”

 

“I don’t have time to care. Get someone to show you how it’s done, but I want this done by the end of the week.”

 

“WILL YOU STOP ENGAGING IN UNLAWFUL RETALIATION AGAINST A SUBORDINATE BECUASE YOU THINK I’M DICKING YOUR JUNXIE?”

 

“I’m _ sorry?” _

 

“ARTICLE THREE, SUBSECTION-”

 

“I’m well aware of the workplace code, but  _ what did you just say to me?” _

 

“THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU’RE THINKING?”

 

_ “Should I be?” _

 

“NO YOU FUCKING IDIOT, I’VE SAID THIS THIRTY THOUSAND TIMES. I’M NOT INTO MECHS.” Gadget crossed her arms, datapad pinched between her two-claw pincers. “REDOUBLE ISN’T MY TYPE. I’M INTO FEMMES, NOT THAT IT’S ANY OF YOUR BUSINESS.”

 

“I’m well aware of your miners’ ilk,” Capacitor grumbled, “You’re just into money.”

 

Gadget wanted to be angry, because she was pretty sure Capacitor was insulting her, but all she could manage was irritatedly confused. “I’M NOT A SEX WORKER, CAPACITOR. I DON’T EXCHANGE SEXUAL SERVICES FOR FINANCIAL COMPENSATION. YOU… KNOW WHAT MY JOB IS. YOU’RE MY COMMANDER. BESIDES, THIS ISN’T THE MOST RELEVANT, BUT A MINER’S JOB ISN’T SEX FOR MONEY. IT’S --”

 

“God, you’re worse than ReDouble,” Capacitor groaned, looking away. Then she glared at the empuratee once more. “How can you have the highest productivity rates in the lab and simultaneously be  _ the stupidest _ motherfucker on this whole base? Hm?” The commander snorted, and before Gadget could heatedly deny it, turned away. “Just get that assignment done by the end of the week. If I were you, I’d stop goofing off watching documentaries with your boss and get to work.”

 

Gadget drooped. So that was the reason for the assignment. “FINE.”

 

Capacitor shot her a very sickly sweet smirk. “Very good, then. Now go. Get me results.”

 

Gadget sullenly opened the door to the rec room and poked her head in. “HEY, REE?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’VE GOT WORK. YOU CAN FINISH THE DOCUMENTARY WITHOUT ME.”

 

“Oh…” he drooped, mouth quirking downwards. “Yeah, yeah alright.”

 

“...SORRY. JUST GOT IT CALLED IN.”

 

“No, you’re good. I’ll watch something else until you can come back, alright?”

 

“YEAH. THANKS.” Gadget closed the door and started to walk away. Capacitor whistled degradingly to catch her attention. 

 

“And Gadget? Stop calling my conjunx by a cutesy nickname.”

 

Gadget simmered angrily. “GO FUCK YOURSELF.” Then, spark pounding at her slip of the glossa, she stormed away, heels clicking. She’d get Capacitor her results, if only in malicious compliance. She was tired of Capacitor’s bullying. Abuse, really. Gadget was the most stupid person on the base? That was ridiculous! She was a quantifiable genius -- maybe not emotionally, but she had the math part down pat. As she walked, she read the datapad in more detail. Prisoner was being held on floor three, which functioned as a brig and holding floor. They were being interrogated now. Gadget could at least go see what she was up against. She strode to the elevator, turning on her heel to press the button and scroll further down the dossier. She needed reliable intel about the Cons’ next move in the Bytrix quadrant so a counter squad could be deployed. She was directed to use “all methods” at her disposal -- including “enhanced interrogation and mnemosurgery”. The elevator dinged, and Gadget stepped out when the door opened. The halls on this floor were winding, and her finials flattened. Her free claw wembled close to her chest, as if flapping subtly from the elbow with a stiff wrist. Centuries ago, she’d felt free to flap her hands. Then, she’d done it in public and accidentally smacked a council member that had walked by, and they’d threatened to take off her arms and not put anything to replace them. She hadn’t done it anymore after that. Now, it felt as if maybe she could get away with it if no one was around. After all… Carthex’s city council didn’t exist anymore.

 

Hesitantly, Gadget walked forwards, looking around at the directional signs. She was headed for room 113. But this place was like a maze, with no seeming rhyme or reason. Finally, she found the room, and walked in. There was a large common room, overlooking a two-way mirror that revealed an interrogation room. One of the captains watching with his arms crossed glanced over at her. “Who are you? You’re not supposed to be here.”

 

“GADGET OF CARTHEX. COMMANDER CAPACITOR PUT ME ON THE CASE.”

 

“Oh, yeah? She said she was giving us a mnemosurgeon.” 

 

“I’M NOT A --” Gadget sighed. “WHATEVER. I NEED SOMEONE TO SHOW ME HOW TO DO MNEMOSURGERY. I CAN BUILD THE VIRUS, BUT I HANDLED PRAXIAN EQUINOIDS AND THE LIKE.”

 

“I barely know what my monitor says to me, sweet piece,” the captain blustered, “you’re gonna have to elaborate.”

 

Gadget sighed. “MY TRANSMITTANCE METHODS WERE USUALLY NEEDLELESS.”

 

“Ah. Well, we can get someone to give you a crash course, I guess. Have you got a needle on you?”

 

“I MEAN, I HAVE ONE IN MY DATACABLE, BUT IT’S NOT FOR MNEMOSURGERY SPECIFICALLY.”

 

“It’ll do.”

 

“UH… SURE. SO WHAT DO I DO?”

 

“Nothing, for right now, sweet piece. Just let the big mecha try their hand first.” He winked, and Gadget sighed even heavier. In the box, another captain was interrogating the prisoner, literally twisting his arm. The prisoner started to holler, and Gadget’s finials flattened. The captain next to her glanced over at her, eyes flicking up and down her frame. 

 

“Nice little waist,” he commented out the side of his mouth. Gadget ignored him, watching the torture play out behind the glass. This probably wasn’t right. But she’d get Capacitor her results, and then report her to high command for abuse of her subordinates and possibly illegal detainment practices. “Hey. Did you hear me? I said you look nice.”

 

“YEAH. THANKS.”

 

The captain snorted. “Well, you’re full of fine fuel, aren’t you?”

 

“I LITERALLY SAID THANK YOU.”

 

“You didn’t sound too happy about it.”

 

Gadget shrugged. “FLIRTING ISN’T MY JOB. THIS ASSIGNMENT IS.”

 

“Who says you can’t have a little fun on the job?”

 

“NOT INTERESTED.” 

 

“Oh, that's right,” the captain said, rolling his eyes. “You racing frames and your thing for speed. Let me guess, if he doesn't go higher than seventy you're not interested?”

 

“I LIKE FEMMES,” Gadget said distractedly. “SO UNLESS YOU'RE A FEMME, I'M NOT REALLY INTERESTED. I MEAN, PLENTY OF FEMMES USE HE/HIM, BUT YOU DON'T HAVE THAT VIBE.”

 

“You’d be correct,” the captain grumbled. “We got a mnemosurgery datapad around here somewhere. Look it over before you go in next, fenderbender.”

 

Gadget glanced around the room idly. It was a little chilly in here, almost uncomfortably so, and the walls were dull and scratched. There were desks with datapads around the room, likely all sorts of paperwork. “YEAH. GOT IT. WHICH DESK?”

 

“Uh, over there, I think.”

 

“THANKS.” Gadget strode over, heels clicking against the ground, all business. She rifled through datapads until she found the right one, reading over it. She could probably do this; it seemed intuitive enough. There was no time like the present. After all, she could take it and read over it step by step. She walked back over to the captain, datapad still in claw. “I THINK I’M READY.”

 

“Oh, yeah? Alright, we’ll get you in there, then.” He went over, and knocked twice on the glass. His partner stopped hounding the Con for information, and came out, a little peeved. 

 

“Why’d you pull me out? I was just starting to get somewhere.”

 

“You say that every time,” the other captain snipped exasperatedly. “Got that mnemosurgeon we wanted, I’m sending her in.”

 

“Her?” The partner looked at Gadget, and looked her up and down. “Looks like a racer. Well, looks can be deceiving.”

 

“I’M A MALWARE DEVELOPER,” Gadget deadpanned, “BUT I SHOULD BE ABLE TO LEARN THE ROPES WITH THE MANUAL. GIVE ME A FEW MINUTES.”

 

“He’s all yours,” the partner said, considerably less irritated about being pulled out. Gadget nodded in respect to him, and strode with purpose to the chamber door, yanking it open. The prisoner yelped and shivered, and Gadget paused for a moment, hesitant. She didn’t want to hurt anybody. She was a scientist, for Primus’ sake. What was she even doing here?

 

She shook off her moment of doubt (or clarity, depending on the angle) and finished her journey over, drifting around him to look the prisoner up and down from every position. She circled him, evaluating him. He was a big mech, bulky and cumbersome. Ripped tank treads adorned his arms. He was a General from the branch of Decepticon Ground Transportation -- captured in the wave at Simanzi.

 

“I don’t know anything,” he sniffled, and Gadget decided that he simultaneously wasn’t very impressive and was kind of pitiable. “I swear, I swear!”

 

Gadget didn’t respond, and she supposed it looked cold. Really, she just didn’t know how to respond to someone blubbering for mercy. Her experiments didn’t blubber. Her experiments didn’t have feelings! 

 

The empurata threw the datapad on the table between them and looked around for materials. Of course, there weren’t any there, so she poked her head out. “HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ANYTHING WITHOUT ANY SERUM? SANITIZING MATERIALS?”

 

“Shit, right,” The captain said, and commed someone. Minutes later, the supplies were wheeled in and laid out, with Gadget extending the syringe in her datacable and checking it over. She glanced at the needle and bevel, and chirped hesitantly, glancing back at the Con and then to her needle once again. “THIS BEVEL ISN’T FIELD-REGULATED… IT WON’T HURT TOO MUCH, RIGHT?”

 

“Uh, uh, it’ll hurt, it’ll hurt a lot,” the guy said, shaking. Gadget tilted her helm. It was probably true, but it also seemed like he was scrambling for excuses. “You don’t wanna hurt me, right? So don’t! Haha, let’s not!”

 

“SORRY,” Gadget said, “MY BOSS HAS A WHOLE FLEET UP HER EXHAUST. DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR PAIN BLOCKERS ARE?”

 

“You can’t,” the Con whimpered, shaking his head. His features scrunched piteously. “They’ll kill me if you get anything.”

 

“I’M SURE WE CAN PROTECT YOU,” Gadget offered earnestly. “SERIOUSLY, MY BOSS WILL HAVE MY ASS IF I DON’T GET THIS DONE. I’M PRETTY SURE IT’S A CASE OF UNLAWFUL RETALIATION AGAINST A SUBORDINATE BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T LIKE ME.” As she spoke, she punctured the vial of mnemosurgery fluid and drew up the internal plunger on her syringe. “THIS WILL LEAVE A VISIBLE SCAR SINCE IT’S NOT FIELD-REGULATED, BUT IF YOU TURN ON YOUR PAIN BLOCKERS YOU SHOULDN’T FEEL TOO MUCH.”

 

“Y-you’re an empurata, right?” the guy stammered, “so you should understand why I don’t want-”

 

Gadget’s finials flattened and he stopped speaking. Spark pounding, she strode over and took up position behind him, needle ready to go in. “SORRY. LAST CHANCE FOR THOSE BLOCKERS.”

 

The Con squeezed his eyes shut and stayed very still for a moment. Then, he nodded, looking like he sorely regretted it. “They’re on.”

 

“IT MIGHT STILL PINCH A LITTLE,” Gadget offered, “BUT I’M NOT A DOCTOR, SO I DON’T KNOW.” Alright. She knew what to do, she’d read the manual. Get in, find the information, and then close the files looked through before removing the needle. She pushed in, bevel-up. The Con gritted his teeth and then relaxed, and Gadget was in. The General had no defense against this kind of attack -- he’d never had a need for it. Gadget sifted through information, closing a file as soon as she moved on from it. They needed information regarding Decepticon bases -- someone like this, who had been on the  _ Nemesis _ , could be very useful. Gadget perused with a careful eye, scouring for any sign of what she needed. She didn’t like this. This was like eye contact -- but a thousand times worse. Her plating crawled with the intimacy. Ah! There was something that could be useful. Gadget snagged it and read it, humming to herself almost as if she’d plucked a novel off of the shelf. Data points about the  _ Nemesis’s _ previous whereabouts weren’t the most helpful, but this Con had been out of the loop for a while, cycled through base after base and prison after prison for interrogation. Tebba was getting the scraps to see if they could handle it, it seemed. So that was another reason Capacitor was so adamant about success. Well, that, and she didn’t like her high-class conjunx being friends with an ex-miner. Or something like that. These data points could actually be pretty good -- they seemed to establish a pattern, and on top of that this General had detailed memories of discussed Conclave meetings from his commander, Chermiin of Stripangxa. Turns out, Chermiin had lips that were a little loose, but these memories were old. The information in them was probably defunct. Gadget knew a stripped mine when she saw one. This General had already been harvested for all he could give. Gadget closed all files and separated, sagging against the wall behind herself to recover for a moment. 

 

The prisoner opened his eyes. Gadget huffed through her vents, straightened, and shook herself out. “THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.”

 

“You were a miner?” the general said, looking over his shoulder at her. “I was too.”

 

Gadget’s finials flattened. “YOU COULDN’T TELL FROM MY ACCENT?”

 

“Well, Carthex had more than just mining. Not much, but a little. By the way, that sucks about your friend and your boss.”

 

Gadget’s plating slimmed. “STOP TALKING TO ME.” And with that, she left, heels clicking smartly against the floor. She’d give Capacitor her data, sure. Right before filing a formal complaint straight to Capacitor’s direct superior, the Lieutenant of this division. On this base, Cap was king. But what was a king to a god? Gadget filed it away as food for thought as she closed the box’s door behind herself and nodded to the two captains. “HE’S BEEN PICKED CLEAN. NOTHING NEW I COULD GET, REALLY. SOME DATA POINTS ABOUT THE  _ NEMESIS’S _ PREVIOUS WHEREABOUTS THAT CAN ESTABLISH A PATTERN. BUT THAT’S ABOUT ALL HE HAD LEFT.” 

 

“Alright, we’ll toss him back into the tombs until we can find what to do with him,” the first captain said. His partner nodded.

 

“Thanks for your help.”

 

Gadget nodded again, taking her leave with purposeful steps that clicked against the floor. As she walked, she entered data onto a pad, hurried and businesslike. She barely noticed getting into the elevator and pressing the button for the officers’ floor. By the time she stormed her way to Capacitor’s office, she’d been steadily getting more and more steamed. Why did Capacitor pick on her? What was it about her? Well, that was a lie. Gadget knew what it was. She knocked on Capacitor’s door and it opened.

 

Capacitor waved her in and Gadget threw the datapad onto the desk, satisfied and electrified at the way it clattered loudly, demandingly. Capacitor jumped back and glared up at her. “And just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

 

“THE DATA FOR YOU.”

 

Capacitor picked it up and started reading it. “Are you kidding me? This is practically worthless.”

 

“IT’S THE BEST I COULD DO. HE’S BEEN PICKED CLEAN, CAPACITOR.”

 

“That’s Commander Capacitor to you,” the plane snapped, “and I want better than your best. If you can’t do it, I’ll bring in someone who can, and put you back on the baby lab floor.”

 

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT. I HAVE THE HIGHEST PRODUCTIVITY RATE IN THE DEPARTMENT, HIGHER THAN REE -- REDOUBLE’S, EVEN.”

 

“Yeah, well, if ReDouble could get his head out of the stars for five seconds I’m sure he could outpace you in no seconds flat,” Capacitor grumbled. “This will do, I guess.”

 

Gadget tilted her helm. “WHY DO YOU TALK ABOUT YOUR CONJUNX LIKE THAT?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“LIKE YOU’RE BETTER THAN HIM. LIKE… LIKE HE’S DUMB.”

 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Capacitor snipped, rolling her eyes. “Get back to me when you actually have a conjunx, if someone ever takes an interest in a no-face.”

 

Gadget beeped loudly, finials shooting up rigidly. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME-”

 

“I said what I said, now get out of my office or I’m demoting you on the spot,” Capacitor snarled, pointing to the door. Gadget’s finials flattened and she fled, transforming in the hallway and leaving screeching tire marks in her wake. Her spark felt as if it were about to burst out of her chest with upset, and after sobbing in her washracks for a good thirty minutes, she furiously typed up her report of Capacitor’s behavior, working nonstop until she deemed it perfect.

 

A comm from ReDouble caught her attention.  **:I had to move rec rooms but I have another one reserved. Are you free yet?:**

 

Gadget stared at it for a moment, vents hiccuping as she recovered. Then, she found the mailing site address of Capacitor’s direct superior and sent him the report, getting up off of her washrack floor and answering her friend.  **:Yeah. I’m free now. Just tell me where to go.:**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for being late! here's chapter 12 as a make-up.


	13. Mondegreens of the Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Havoc and Flux go through a bump but still remain close, Chermiin is learning to adjust to having Fortress Maximus around instead of Campe, and the introduction of the DJD is putting massive strain on Thinstreak and Haven's relationship. Last but not least, Flux receives a gift from Megatron that changes the tide of the future, at least partially unbeknownst to both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers:**
> 
> **none that i can think of, but if you need something tagged, don't hesitate to let me know! my inbox is always open.**

Flux sipped at her creamed energon as Havoc downed a shot across the small table from her. They were hanging out in a rec room, Havoc having accepted Flux's proposal for a drink. “How have you been, Havoc?”

 

“Fine,” Havoc grumbled, engines rumbling. Her paintjob was glossy, but scratched. “Business as usual. You?”

 

“Yeah, I'm… I'm fine.”

 

“Something's bothering you. What is it?”

 

“You don't need to worry-”

 

“You wanna be friends, let me be a friend. What's the matter?”

 

Flux shrugged, taking another sip of her drink as confusion and dread swirled in her tanks at events as of late. “I guess… I don't know.  Conclave stuff. Megatron's been… difficult lately.”

 

“Mm. You know you don't have to put up with that shit, right? What he does.”

 

“Oh, well… I don't know, I'm just waiting for a ship so I can… I don't know. Have some peace and quiet, maybe? That's a bad thing to say, but fighting all the time is blech.”

 

“Is that your professional opinion?” 

 

“Shut up,” Flux laughed, finishing off her drink. Her cheeks were warm, but Havoc didn’t even look tipsy despite it being her third shot. Whooping across the room caught their attention; Conure was currently trying to dance on the table, with Oracle, Regus and Carapace trying to get her down. Flux sighed heavily. “I’d better get her down from there. Do you mind?”

 

“Nah, do your thing.”

 

Flux set her glass on the table and crossed the room. This rec room functioned as a sort of unsanctioned bar, with Megatron turning a blind eye to the illegal engex consumption. Soldiers needed some way to blow off steam, after all. So the bar went mostly unbothered. The barkeepers ran for the hills when Tarn was on-ship -- they scattered like rats and the entire rec room became a veritable ghost town. Nobody wanted to be caught dead  _ or _ alive in that room. But for now, when the DJD was nowhere in sight, it was a lively little place with lights on strings hung up on the walls and comfy furniture. Flux drifted behind Carapace and Regus, murmuring “let me” and they moved out of her way. Conure stuck her tongue out in a flirty “aeeeeehhhhhhh” as her hips swayed back and forth. She shimmied in a clear attempt to catch Flux’s attention. “Heyyyyyy Fluxie…”

 

“Hey there, birdie,” Flux responded calmly, reaching up to grab her by the waist to bring her down. “Hop down off the table, will you?”

 

Conure giggled and hummed as Flux’s hands closed around her waist. “Ooh,  _ oh! _ Mhm, strong hands…”

 

“Thank you, Conure,” Flux humored, very used to this. Gently, she lifted and then lowered her vanguard General, supporting her with a hand on the shoulder after her feet were on the floor. Conure sagged against Flux, practically glueing herself to her superior’s side. 

 

“Can you take me back to my room?” She slurred, biting her lower lip and half-lidding her eyes. Even though she was mostly standing still, she stumbled. “Sir?”

 

“I can make you reactivate your FIM chip,” Flux reprimanded, shaking a finger. Eyes wide and round, Conure nodded like a bobblehead, and then dissolved into giggles. Flux glanced to Carapace. “How much has she had?”

 

“About ten gelatin shots and two regular ones,” Carapace sighed, matter-of-factly but long-sufferingly.

 

“Well, it is her time off I suppose,” Flux mumbled, and Carapace inclined cer head in agreement. Flux turned back to her very, very drunk vanguard General. “Conure, let’s reactivate your chip. You can get drunk again, but if you’re dancing on tables, you’ve had a little too much.”

 

“I just wanna have some fun,” Conure pouted. “But fine.” She shivered, clicked on her FIM chip, and grumbled, separating from Flux. The plane patted her shoulder.

 

“Thanks. As you were.”

 

“Mhm!” Conure flashed her a grin and the two parted ways. Flux walked back over to sit in her seat, and flagged the barkeeper for another creamed engex drink. She thanked him as he brought it to her, and turned back to Havoc.

 

“Sorry about that. Where were we?”

 

“Do you always treat them like that?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“You know,” Havoc said, jerking her helm towards Carapace, Regus and Conure, who were on their way out, chatting and laughing. “Baby them or something, I dunno.”

 

“I don’t baby them. I just… I care about my units, you know? They’re practically my family. We have to watch each other’s backs.”

 

“Mm.” Havoc grumbled and took a sip of her drink, a high-grade old-fashioned. “I guess.”

 

“Hey,” Flux said, chunky brows pulling down. “Hey, what’s up? You seem a little… well, cranky.”

 

“Cranky, cute,” Havoc deadpanned, and took a bigger sip. Flux sighed and looked away, lips pursing. 

 

“Not what I meant,” she said, a little quieter, and watched a light on the wall she was watching flicker as she felt a part of herself zone out. “I just meant that you seem upset about something.”

 

“I’m fine,” Havoc snapped, and Flux’s fingers twitched in an aborted jump. They shook gently, and the Major General swallowed, glancing down at her drink. She downed it in one gulp and flagged down something harder. 

 

“Yeah,” she said, “yeah, of course. Sorry.”

 

Havoc was quiet. “Nah. I’m sorry. I just. I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“You could have told me that from the beginning,” Flux joked gently, but it seemed a bit hollow as she smiled at her hands. Even without seeing her eyes, Havoc could tell the smile didn’t even come close to reaching them. She grasped at the drink brought to her and took a hearty gulp, sighing and slumping down in her chair. “Just… if you wanna talk about it, you have my comm frequency.”

 

Havoc pursed her lips. Flux looked tired, old all of a sudden. She looked as if she wasn’t even entirely here, and the doctor wasn’t sure how to pull her out of it. So Havoc cleared her throat, and watched Flux blink at the table between them, face neutral. “Yeah. I’ve got a shift.”

 

“Oh,” Flux said, trying to put energy into her voice. “Oh, um. Yeah. Good luck. It was good seeing you.”

 

“Yeah.” Havoc cleared her throat again. “Uh, you too. Maybe we could -- again?”

 

“Yeah,” Flux said, with real energy this time as she seemed to wake from a dream. “Yeah, I’d like that. Lemme know when.”

 

Havoc nodded, and fled as discreetly as she could. When she looked over her shoulder, Flux was staring at the ceiling, slumped even further in the chair as her hand loosely cradled the drink.

 

Flux sighed, drifting hazily with an achy spark. She took a swallow of her harder drink and wrinkled her nose at the taste. Someone glided to stand beside her chair; when she glanced to say hi, she saw Virtue impassively staring down at her. “Might I ask what that was about?”

 

Flux heaved out a heavy sigh. “Nothing really. I just bumbled some words and said something I shouldn't have.”

 

“Mm. You do know she's a single minded idiot, right?”

 

Flux shrugged. “Sometimes we all are. Sorry to bother you, Virtue.”

 

“Nonsense. I was just investigating what I saw from across the room.”

 

“Mm. Care to sit down? I'm going to be here for a few more minutes before I go back to my office to work on paperwork.”

 

Virtue thought about it, then gracefully glided over to what had been Havoc's chair and sat down. “I don't see why not, if it's only a few minutes.”

 

Flux smiled, already feeling a little better -- or at the very least, distracted. “So how's Starscream?”

 

“Oh, you know. The usual. I had to stop him from carrying out another one of his ill-thought-out plots.”

 

Flux hummed, nodding. “I get why he wants to -- well, you know, but… I'm just hoping that Megatron will come around.”

 

“You can't change people who don't want to change.”

 

“I know, I know. I have to get going, but tell Starscream I said hi if you see him before I do, alright? I worry about him.”

 

“Of course, Major General,” Virtue agreed, standing when she did. Flux set her empty glass on the table to get picked up and Virtue walked her out. “I think we both do.”

  
  


\-------------------

  
  
  


Chermiin sipped her cube of energon as she chatted with Jackpot, laughing at some joke he told. Campe had officially left and resigned at this point, and while most people were at least ambivalent at seeing her go, Chermiin would actually kinda miss her. Besides, the new warden was a little more strict with her. He was nice enough, but Chermiin was well aware her leash had been so long with Campe because she'd been here so long without causing trouble she was almost a fixture of the prison. And the new warden hadn't built that kind of trust with her.

 

Speak of Unicron and he shall appear -- Jackpot suddenly sobered, looking behind Chermiin, and she frowned. “Hey, what's up Jacks?” She turned, and flashed an appealing smile as she registered that it was Fortress Maximus that had walked up behind her.

 

The warden raised an eyebrow.

 

“It was just talking over breakfast,” Chermiin offered. “I'm accounted for, just ask Shotput. Jackpot checked in with him when we left the mess hall.”

 

“Officially,” Fort Max reprimanded, “you're supposed to be in the mess hall,  _ not _ accompanying Jackpot on his rounds of A block. I'm not going to make a comment on how my predecessor ran things, but I can't be sure you won't make a break for it, Chermiin. There's camera footage of you walking around  _ alone, _ for Primus’s sake. You're still a prisoner here; this is only partially protective custody.”

 

“Yeah, I walk in the halls with cameras,” Chermiin volunteered, “so you can see I don't try anything funny. If I leave here, I have to go back to y’know, being an active Decepticon.”

 

Fortress Maximus’ expression softened a bit. “Look. I'm not saying that you don't have my trust. I'm just saying that prisoners walking around willy-nilly isn't a good way to run a prison. Unofficially, you might be perfectly accounted for, but we need you where the record itinerary says you are in case we need to find you.”

 

Chermiin nodded, pursing her lips as she glanced down. Fort Max lingered for a little longer, glancing at prisoner and guard. “Finish up your breakfast and head back,” he said, “ _ accompanied, _ please.”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

Fortress Maximus nodded and walked away to attend to his other duties as warden. Chermiin turned back to Jackpot, and the two were quiet for a minute before Jackpot softly whispered “oops” and the two dissolved into giggling. Chermiin slurped at her cube.

 

“It’s going to be hard to adjust,” she mumbled, and Jackpot shrugged.

 

“I’m sure he’ll come around. Besides, it’s not like you got a disciplinary mark.”

 

“Yeah, that’s true. I guess I just forgot I was -- y’know, incarcerated here.”

 

Jackpot laughed, lifting an eye ridge. “You sleep in a cell, Chermiin, how could you forget?”

 

“I dunno, I just kinda live here,” Chermiin laughed, shrugging. She took another sip of fuel and noticed with disappointment that the cube was empty. “Aw, nuts.”

 

“And bolts,” Jackpot agreed, glancing over the lip of the cube. “I’ll call someone to walk you back.”

 

“Can’t I just go?”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Okay…” Chermin moped, puffing air through her vents. It felt like she was having privileges revoked for doing nothing wrong, even though she knew that wasn’t the case. She still couldn’t help feeling like that, however. She poutily scuffed a foot and waited with Jackpot until another guard came by to pick her up.

 

“What’d you do to get the leash reeled in?” They questioned, as Chermiin shrugged.

 

“Nothing,” she answered, “it’s just a new warden.”

 

“At this rate, you’re gonna outlast the place,” the guard chuckled, taking her down the winding halls back to the mess hall. “Alright, there’s the door to the caf. Check in with Shotput when you get there.”

 

“Got it,” Chermiin answered, “thanks for walking me back.”

  
  


\----------------------

  
  


Haven sighed as he pulled the blanket a little tighter around himself in bed, spark achy. He and Thinstreak had been distant lately, their relationship feeling strained. His conjunx slept on the other side of the bed, back turned to him. The two hadn’t even said goodnight before going to sleep. Haven almost felt lonely. The other day, Thinstreak had outright blamed him for bringing the DJD to the planet, which was clearly ridiculous. Or… was it? Haven was certain they’d thought he was dead. But he could never be sure -- Tarn was the type of person who liked to play with his food. It was the reason Haven was still alive -- that, and the tank had a fervent devotion bordering on obsession of getting to each listed person in precise order. But Thinstreak had shouted it with such surety that now the ambulance wasn’t sure.

 

The room felt cold -- the sheets colder. Haven checked the clock. It was two hours before he was supposed to get up. He could just… get up, make them both breakfast and even make Thinstreak a nice lunch for him to come and retrieve on his lunch hour.

 

The doctor grumbled to himself and got up, shuffling into the kitchen and getting to work. By the time Thinstreak shuffled tiredly into the kitchen an hour later, Haven was just finishing the breakfast spread. “Morning,” he offered, hoping to ease the lonely feeling in his spark. “How’d you sleep?”

 

“Uh, fine,” Thinstreak said, eyes glancing over the array of food. “Did you get up early and make this?”

 

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make a nice breakfast for us both.”

 

“Thanks, sweetspark,” Thinstreak said, but it felt hollow. He picked a couple of things he could eat on the move and started to head out. Haven’s arms -- and his affectionate expression -- dropped.

 

“You’re not even going to sit down?”

 

“Can’t,” the warden mumbled through food, breezing into the living room to collect things for work. “Got stuff to do!”

 

“Your office is literally right outside the living room door,” Haven called, a mite irritated. “It’ll take you two seconds to get to your desk!”

 

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” Thinstreak called, before hurrying through said door and closing it behind him. Haven deflated, the ache coming back ten times stronger. Lately, it felt like he didn’t matter to his conjunx. Where had it gone wrong? They hadn’t interfaced in ages. The fluttery feeling had gone from their relationship, leaving something that Haven could only describe as lackluster. Thinstreak dodged his conjunx’s attempts to discuss it and the doctor could feel the spark fading. Resisting the sudden urge to cry, Haven swiped the back of one of his hands over his eyes and sniffled, putting the dishes in the sink. He didn’t have the energy to load the dishwasher. Then, he sat at the table, and started in on the food, ending up crying halfway through because he didn’t even have the energy to chew, let alone put all this in bags and in the fridge. He ended up scraping it all into the trash and going to work hungry -- and exhausted. He barely saw Thinstreak the whole day, and the warden was asleep by the time Haven came to bed. So the doctor just tucked himself in and forced himself to go to sleep. Thinstreak was in the kitchen when he woke up, and he trudged in as well, grabbing iron flakes and pouring them into a bowl with some oil. He grabbed a spoon and stood at the counter, munching tiredly.

 

“Is there going to be another big breakfast today?” Thinstreak asked. Haven shrugged, feeling a little worse.

 

“Too tired,” he said, “sorry.”

 

“Ah.” Thinstreak frostily scrolled further through the newspad. “What, you’re upset I didn’t sit down yesterday?”

 

“I mean, a little,” Haven said, “but I really am too tired to do all that again.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Hey, Teebs?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“I… I feel like we’re drifting apart.”

 

“Don’t be silly, we’re both just very busy,” Thinstreak said, brushing the notion aside. Haven shrugged again, looking away.

 

“I don’t know, we haven’t done anything together in months. I miss you.”

 

“You  _ miss _ me?” Thinstreak said incredulously, glancing up over the newspad. “Haven, we sleep in the same bed.”

 

The two stared at each other, almost in a contest, as the overhead light flickered. The doctor folded first, glancing down and crossing his bottom arms. His top two continued to hold the cereal bowl and push the soggy iron flakes around. “Yeah. I guess. You’re right.”

 

Thinstreak stared a moment longer, and softened. “No, I do understand where you’re coming from. Tell you what -- how about we both take a day off tomorrow and have a day to ourselves?”

 

Haven’s spark fluttered again, that joyous airy feeling he used to feel about Thinstreak. He couldn’t help the smile on his face and he ate another spoonful of iron flakes to cover it. “Really?” he mumbled around breakfast.

 

“Sure! You know what, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to go in, so --” Thinstreak brought his bowl up to the sink and glanced at the sink, frowning. “Really? There’s stuff caked on them, Hav.”

 

“I couldn’t do it,” Haven said, guiltily. “I’ll, uh, I’ll take care of it before tomorrow.”

 

“No, don’t worry about it,” Thinstreak said, pecking his cheek before leaving his bowl in the pile of dishes. “I’ll take care of it tonight. See you tonight, sweetspark.” 

 

“Yeah,” the doctor replied, returning the kiss, “you too, Teebs.”

 

“Stop calling me Teebs!” Thinstreak laughed as he exited, and Haven had to laugh. The chuckle trailed away and the doctor sighed heavily, more than a little confused about their relationship. There were moments like these, where suddenly the two had a little more energy than usual for each other, but the moments were getting fewer and further between. Haven felt as if they were almost resuscitation attempts, each one getting more and more feeble. He shook off the grim thought and got ready to go into work himself, slogging through another dull day. When he got back to their habsuite, Thinstreak wasn’t anywhere to be found -- not in the kitchen, or the living room. He wasn’t in bed, either. Spark dropping with disappointment, Haven shuffled into the washroom to take a cold solvent shower and get ready for bed.

 

Thinstreak was waiting in an oil bath with a couple of light strings lit up. “Hey,” he said, “Thought about what you said this morning. Come in with me?”

 

Haven felt his cheeks heat and shuffled over, stepping into and sinking into the oil on the other side of the tub. It was warm, and eased over his aching joints like fine, high-filament-count metalmesh. “Oh, that’s good…”

 

Thinstreak chuckled. “Achy today?”

 

“Always,” Haven grumbled, and the oil swished as Thinstreak moved to lay his back against Haven’s chest, wiggling to get comfortable. His head fell back against Haven’s shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been appreciating you enough lately,” he said, “Work is… a lot harder now. With all the… you know.”

 

“We could resign,” Haven said, “go somewhere else.”

 

“You and I both know the only reason they’re keeping you alive is because they know you don’t care enough to go anywhere,” Thinstreak said, and the two let the moment simmer down.

 

Haven shrugged. “I care about  _ us.” _

 

“Me too,” Thinstreak said, grabbing one of Haven’s hands under the oil. “I… I feel like we’ve been a little separated lately as well.”

 

Haven sighed in relief, the warm oil seeping deep into his joints and crevices and making movement come so much easier. Thinstreak’s frame was lithe and so light against his, shiny and pretty from the oil. “We can still fix it.”

 

“Yeah.” Thinstreak brought his hand out from under the oil and kissed it, flipping it over to kiss the palm, almost mouthing it. Haven coughed, discreetly, as his frame took a very acute interest. Medic’s hands didn’t have all those rumors about being sensitive for no reason, after all, and Thinstreak was sucking his index finger.

 

“T-Teebs-”

 

“Ah!” Thinstreak chastised, lips moving against Haven’s palm, and the medic groaned softly in his chest. “I thought we agreed that you’re not using that silly nickname when things heat up.”

 

Haven had to laugh. “Sorry, I just -- haah -- Thinstreak you bastard, stop licking my hand seams so I can think!”

 

Thinstreak innocently glanced up at him and the two giggled. Haven’s spark felt much better -- the loneliness was almost nonexistent, pushed to the far reaches of his spark as his conjunx adjusted to straddle Haven’s lap and kissed him. Haven gladly kissed back, one set of hands drifting to cradle Thinstreak’s jaw and the other set drifting to frame his waist. Thinstreak was squirmy when he got revved, and Haven hummed. The kiss was warm, the oil bath was warm… thinking about the oil got Haven thinking about the oil he’d had in his iron flakes and suddenly he separated, both of their vents a little heavier. Thinstreak’s fans had clicked on.

 

“Wait,” Haven said, and Thinstreak’s eyebrows went up expectedly. “What about the dishes?”

 

“Damn the dishes,” his conjunx growled, yanking him back in. “Come here.”

 

They both went to bed an hour or two later, Haven's joints creaking a little less from the oil but his back hurting a little more from their antics. They even spooned that night, and the bed felt warm again.

 

The week passed, and as the week grew to a close, Thinstreak grew more irritable. Haven couldn't blame him -- Tarn was slotted to come back at the end of the week. They only had a few smooth months before each visit, and each one took a bigger toll on their bonding. A little part of Haven worried that their bonding wouldn't survive this, but he pushed it aside. It had to. They were in love. 

 

Thinstreak had trouble falling asleep the night before Tarn's visit -- which wasn't that unusual. He also woke up grumpy and stressed -- again, not that unusual, and Haven couldn't blame him. Thinstreak was clipped and short with his conjunx the whole morning until he left, and the doctor simply shook his helm and reported to his shift later, nearly afternoon. Palaver greeted him, and the two got to work seeing patients. Lately, the residential doctor had had less of an overlapping shift with Haven. Today, he had two hours and then he was off. Three hours later, the door opened, and Haven turned to see Tarn. Thinstreak stood in front of him, looking drawn and tense.

 

Haven eyed the tank. “What, did my number finally come up?”

 

“Not quite,” Tarn drawled, inspecting his claws. “I require a t-cog.”

 

“What, to have or to get put in now?”

 

“A replacement, if you would be so charitable, doctor.”

 

Haven sighed. “How do you know I won't -- I don't know, poison it or something?”

 

“Don't be silly,” Tarn dismissed, getting onto a berth. “Now. Doctor?”

 

Haven sighed even heavier. “Fine. Lie still while I check it.”

 

Thinstreak's eyes bugged before he looked away, and he commed Haven.  **:are you** **_crazy?_ ** _**:** _

 

Haven ignored him, scanning where Tarn's t-cog would be and pressing down on the plating, feeling for irregularities or bumps. Tarn’s belly flexed and he grunted nearly inaudibly. “Move on, Doctor,” he growled, and Haven grimaced at the burn in his spark. “I know what the problem is, I've simply burnt it out.”

 

The doctor nodded, grim, and Thinstreak commed him again.  **:Hav, he's going to** **_kill_ ** **you.:**

 

**:Not if I do this right and get him on his way out of here.:**

 

**:Haven, don't be stupid!:**

 

The doctor sent an irritated glance Thinstreak's way and directed his attention back to Tarn. “I have to remove plating for this procedure, so if you would, turn your pain blockers on.”

 

“No need.”

 

“You're sure?” Haven asked, only because it was routine. Tarn glowered at him and started to say something, but the doctor cut him off. “It's my job to ask.”

 

“Hmph. I said no need.”

 

“Alright,” Haven acquiesced with a shrug, and one of his hands transformed into a laser scalpel. “Then get ready to bite down on something if you want.”

 

Tarn didn't. He just offlined his optics and took a breath. Haven got started, and Thinstreak looked away, wandering around fake idly. Haven took the square of plating away and wrinkled his nose at the stench of ozone, burnt metal and fried wiring.

 

“This room is messy,” Thinstreak noticed quietly. Haven pulled Tarn’s t-cog out to inspect it, and glowered at the warden, hands still working.

 

“Is now the best time, T?”

 

“Focus on your work, doctor,” Tarn growled. Haven shushed him.

 

“I’ve been doing this longer than you've been alive, so hush,” he said, “I could do it in my sleep. So, I'm going to need to replace this, but since you've also fried your wiring, I'm going to need to replace the covers on those. T, run to the cooler and get me a t-cog.”

 

“What am I, your nurse?” Thinstreak muttered, but went anyways. Moments later he returned with a cooler box labeled “T-COG”. “Aren't you worried it'll defrost and, I don't know, go bad?”

 

“T-cogs don't work like that,” Haven said absently, stripping the ruined wire covering away. “Cold is ideal for storage, but the warmer they are upon insertion the easier they integrate into systems. You know, Tarn, I could have had it already warming up if you'd let me know this was what you wanted in advance.”

 

“Stop kvetching, will you?” Thinstreak muttered, and it pissed Haven off.

 

“I'm old, I can kvetch all I like, Teebs,” he retorted, and the warden shot him a scandalized glance. Tarn chuckled softly.

 

“Teebs,” he said, tasting the word. “I like it.”

 

Haven unclipped the wiring from the t-cog and grabbed some unused covering from the nearby table. Deftly, he slid them on in sections and delicately melted them together until the wiring was safely covered. Then, he moved on to the t-cog in the cooler, and deeming it warm enough, painstakingly attached it to wiring and anchoring. “Alright, you should be good to go. Let me attach this square of plating back and then I want to see a transformation to see if there's anything I need to fix.”

 

Tarn stood when Haven backed away and moved to a clearer point in the room, t-cog transforming with a menacing chug-chug-chug. A tank stood in his place for a few moments, and then he was back in root mode, tilting his helm. “Well?”

 

Haven nodded. “Free to go.”

 

“Until we meet again, then,” Tarn said smoothly, and turned. Thinstreak left with him, presumably to walk him out, and Haven didn't see him again until he was getting into bed and the jet came into the bedroom.

 

“Hey, T,” Haven greeted tiredly. “Sorry I got cranky today.”

 

Thinstreak didn't say a word, putting his glasses on the bedside table and avoiding the bed completely, much to Haven's surprise. Instead, he flopped onto the couch, rolled so his back was facing Haven, and pulled the couch blanket over himself.

 

“T, aren't you coming to bed?” Haven yawned, brow furrowing. Thinstreak's shoulders hunched up, but still no answer. It was clear Heaven wouldn’t be getting his attention any time soon, so the doctor ignored the sting in his spark and laid back down. “Well… okay. Goodnight, then.”

 

Haven drifted off. Right before he did, he realized that he and Teebs had never actually taken that day off they’d meant to.

 

The doctor woke before Thinstreak the next morning, and made the jet's favorite breakfast, leaving it it on the little table by the couch covered up. He scrawled a note and went to go have a crappy little breakfast of week old chips and went to his office early to get out of the hab and do some paperwork. Thinstreak commed him a very clipped thank you an hour later, but other than that, Haven didn't hear from him again. Two and a half million years in and he felt stuck in another impossible situation. Thinstreak’s reign of silence lasted another three days, and even when he started speaking again, there was something missing -- a true frostiness that hadn't been there before. Despite all of Haven's efforts to hang onto this relationship for dear life -- the thing that made life worth living for him -- he could feel it dissolving like rust in his fingertips. So he started to drift away as well, eschewing Thinstreak's infrequent come-ons in bed. He just didn't feel like sleeping with him anymore. The connection was missing. So Thinstreak stopped asking, and within the decade Haven was sleeping in the bed and Thinstreak was on the couch. The last shreds of affection felt gone, and Haven felt lost, uncertain on what to do. 

  
  


\----------------------

  
  


Flux knocked on Megatron’s door, uncertainty and apprehension blooming. When Megatron opened it, she smiled appealingly. “You called?”

 

“Yes, yes, come in,” Megatron benedicted, waving her on in. “Have a drink with me.” 

 

“Don't mind if I do,” Flux answered, taking a seat. He took one across from her and poured the drinks, sliding hers across the table to her. She caught it and took a sip, humming appreciatively. “So, what do you need?”

 

“Have you been to loading dock 7 lately?”

 

“Can't say that I have. Why?”

 

“Excellent,” the warlord exclaimed, and downed his drink, “come with me.”

 

“Er, alright,” Flux said, doing the same and following him down the halls and to the dock. Loading dock 7 was one of the biggest hangars on the ship, what was so important that he was taking her to it personally? And so excited about it, as well. It almost seemed like the old Megatron, the one she was friends with. 

 

He opened the door, and stood aside, gesturing for her to go in. The ceiling soared above them, with four entrances on the four floors it spanned. Flux finished looking around and laid eyes on a new ship in the center of the room, graceful hull gleaming in the harsh overhead light.

 

“Welcome,” he said, “to your new ship, Major General Flux.”

 

Flux gasped. “Stop it!”

 

“I'm serious.”

 

The plane squeaked, running over to look at it gleefully, inspecting what she could. “She's lovely!”

 

“She's not officially in commission until tomorrow,” Megatron said, walking up behind her with his hands clasped behind his back. “But I thought you might like to see her. After all, she needs a name for the commissioning tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, wow,” Flux breathed, eyes wide with delight. She hesitantly touched the hull with a reverent hand, beaming.

 

“Would you like to go aboard and look around?”

 

“Would I?” Flux laughed, “yes, please!”

 

The two went aboard, visiting the bridge first. It seemed a bit sterile, but Flux was already thinking of ways to make it more homey. Megatron explained as they walked. “This is the bridge. Six different consoles for various stations, and the captain's chair here. You have the captain's quarters, the biggest on the ship.” He took her there, and Flux was busy rubbernecking at the hallways, smiling. 

 

The door to the captain's chambers opened. Flux entered, gaping. “Oh, wow…” First, there was a common room, with a holovid screen and a couch, and a huge desk along one wall. Then there was a bedroom, and a huge washrack attached to it. There were even a couple of rec rooms aboard.

 

“It has enough room for everyone under your purview -- at the very least, down to the petty officers. It has a large medibay, and you'll have to find a medic or two to fill it before you can take off on any real mission. I'll put out a signup and greenlight a couple of scouting excursions for you.”

 

“Oh,” Flux gleefully sighed, and surged to hug Megatron. “Thank you, Megs!”

 

Megatron didn't hug her back immediately, clearing his throat. When they separated, he became a little more stern. “You know you have to make Conclave meetings, still.”

 

“Oh, of course!”

 

“Good. Come up with a name before the commissioning tomorrow, alright?”

  
“I’ve already got one,” she said, delighted, and patted the wall beside her. “I'm calling her the  _ Erstwhile Assemblance _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 13 ALREADY! wow!!!! so what do you guys think thus far? what do you think is going to happen? which characters do you like/dislike? food for thought! <3


	14. On the Use of Savoir vs. Connaître

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven and Thinstreak keep fighting, Flux and her units get settled into their new ship, and Capacitor continues to menace Gadget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers: mentions of physical abuse and intimidation from a commander starting at the beginning of paragraph 112 and ending at the beginning of paragraph 116.**
> 
>  
> 
> **nothing else that i can think of, but if you need anything tagged please let me know!**

Havoc was typing at her desk when the door flew open, and Flux stood in the doorway beaming. “Guess who just got her own ship, Havoc!”

 

“Primus,” the medic growled, recovering from the jump. “Do you mind?”

 

“Sorry, sorry, but _ eeee! _ Havoc, I have a ship now! We have to find a medic before we can really take off, but there’s some really promising candidates that are lined up for me to interview!”

 

“Congrats,” Havoc said, and meant it. She was loathe to admit it (and probably never would) but she liked the plane. She was friendly and bubbly, and maybe a little dumb, sort of like a turbofox. Not quite a friend, but she was very hard to get mad at. “So what are you talking to me for?”

 

“Well, that’s the thing.” Flux relaxed a little, leaning in the doorframe. “I wanted to ask you if uh… if you want to be the _ Erstwhile Assemblance’s _ medic.”

 

“ _ The Erstwh _ \-- Primus on a unicycle you are pretentious,” Havoc sputtered, at a loss. “I uh, uh. What the fuck do you want me on board for?”

 

“Well, you’re a great medic to start. And um… I like you, Havoc. You’re a really great friend.”

 

Havoc wasn’t entirely sure how Flux had come to that conclusion, but they had been spending a lot of time together lately. Perhaps Flux had taken that as friendship. Havoc grumbled, the heat of anger in her spark simmering in confusion. “That’s generous of you, but no.”

 

“Great, I’ll -- no?” Flux’s face fell. “Really?”

 

“Yeah. I got stuff to do here.”

 

The cargo plane frowned. “You mean kill Ultra Magnus.”

 

“You’d better pick your next fucking words very carefully,” Havoc snarled, turning to point a pen at her. Flux wasn’t impossible to get angry with -- just hard. Flux didn’t seem fazed, something that irritated Havoc even more.

 

“It’s true,” she said, “and I’m not going to try and stop you. Whatever your reasoning, it’s not for me to decide. But, uh… if you really feel that way, I guess I’ll… go ahead to the interviews?”

 

“You do that,” Havoc muttered, and Flux sighed. The massive plane approached, and brought something out of her subspace. 

 

“I got you something.” It was flowers. It was fucking flowers! God, could she be any more disgustingly sweet? Havoc scowled. 

 

“I don’t have a vase.”

 

Flux’s expression turned decidedly more impish and her other hand whipped out a crystalline vase. “Is that so?”

 

“Fuck you, you thought of everything,” Havoc said, taking both objects. She put the flowers in the vase and sat them on her desk, grumpily moving them and more than a little mad she was so affected. If she’d been anyone else, she might have cried, and her optics were definitely not watery all of a sudden, not in the slightest. “Well, go. Find a good medic, you know where to find me when you land back here.”

 

“Yeah. Thanks, Havoc.”

 

“For what?”

 

Flux shrugged, her smile infuriatingly gentle. “For being a friend in your own way.” With that, she left, closing the door behind her. Havoc found herself staring at the door for a long time, unidentifiable things swirling in her spark. She distracted herself by going back to her paperwork, but her spark wasn’t in it. To her surprise, she found herself actually tearing up, one dripping down her cheek onto the datapad. She blinked at it in shock, as if questioning why it dared escape, and then wiped it away, sniffing once.

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


Flux sat at her office desk, smiling at the person who came to stand in front of it. She stood up to shake their hand and gave a casual salute as they both sat down. The candidate returned it.

 

“So, Phaseback, right?”

 

“Yes, sir, that’s correct.”

 

“Says here you studied at a bunch of impressive places, completed your residency in…” Flux trailed off, mumbling to herself. Then she glanced back up. “I’m going to be honest, medicine was never my thing, so I only know how impressive these  _ sound. _ I guess my bottom line question is… why do you want to serve aboard my ship?”

 

“I admire you as a commanding officer and I like your style,” Phaseback answered. “I’m looking for a change of pace, if I’m being honest. Not much action on scavenger ships.”

 

“That is true,” Flux agreed, nodding. 

 

The two talked for a few more minutes, and Phaseback seemed like a pretty good candidate. However, it was Phaseback’s parting comment that neatly excised him from her consideration. “You know, I’ll be excited to work with you. Helping y’all give those organics the old one-two punch, you know.”

 

Flux smiled, but it was tight. “Indeed. Though, mostly we just handle transportation. Thank you for coming in, Phaseback.”

 

The young medic waved goodbye, and left, the next medic coming up to take their turn. Flux must have interviewed at least two dozen people, and at the end of the day she sat at her desk, poring heavily over her selection of choices. She’d narrowed it down to five. Flyraid was a near prodigy, but very young and headstrong. Experienced in medicine, but not much else -- he would need quite a bit of guidance if Flux decided to take him on. 

 

Then there was Pillage -- they seemed to be gullible, perhaps too much so. Decent skillset, had a record of procrastination. And while it was certainly understandable (Flux had a bit of a procrastinator streak herself), it was a bit too long of a record for Flux’s taste. 

 

Next was Hazard; reckless, daring, especially with heroic medical measures. Rumor had it he was just as likely to kill you as save you -- but Flux took a look at his statistics and was quite pleased. What he lacked in natural skill he made up with sheer determination and willpower to be the best. Flux glanced over the last two, and frowned. Hard choices were ahead. 

 

She’d pick two for the ship -- they’d have to be two that worked well together. Pairing Hazard with Pillage could possibly jolt the latter into action -- have them be inspired by Hazard’s force of will and follow in his footsteps. But Hazard was also a bit of a troublemaker, a prankster, and someone like Pillage could be easily drawn in to something bad. Pairing Pillage with Flyraid wouldn’t work at all -- Flyraid defined himself in opposition to authority, almost, in a childish way. Pillage could easily adopt the same mannerisms, and Flux had no time for pigheadedness when medical attention was needed.

 

She sighed, and sat back in her chair. Perhaps she could pair Flyraid with Hazard… make Hazard CMO. He was certainly ambitious enough, with a perfectionist streak. He would be the perfect first line of defense against Flyraid’s bullheadedness. It was unlikely he’d let another mech’s bad behavior besmirch the good name of his medibay. In turn, Flyraid could hone his already-naturally-there skills and learn how to do things that didn’t come to him immediately. Flux knew the type -- if they couldn’t learn how to do it within five minutes, it was cast aside. Which was fine as long as you had a lot of natural talents. But Flyraid’s performance had suffered in the areas of delicate surgery or neurology. Ironically, he was best suited for a hack and chop trauma job, coming in and stabilizing the patient. Hazard was the one who threw himself into the nuances of the surgery, tweaking every wire and welding every seam. 

 

They’d be perfect together. Flux sent the other applicants a thank-you for the interview that noted she was very sorry to decline, and asked both Hazard and Flyraid to come in for another interview tomorrow. 

  
  


\------------------------

  
  


Haven finished dragging the cot into his office and threw it down on the floor near the back of the room, huffing and puffing. He chucked his pillow from the bed onto it, and sighed, turning to trudge back to the habsuite to get a blanket. He’d been sleeping at his desk sporadically for the past three weeks just to avoid sleeping in bed with a conjunx who couldn’t stand him. Might as well put something comfy to sleep on in his office if he was going to be there.

 

Thinstreak was in the living room, eating his lunch when Haven got in. The doctor muttered hello, and the jet grunted a reply back. Whatever flicker of affection they’d shared was dead -- now, their chemistry could best be described as two people. More accurately, as two people who were mildly irritated about having to be in such close quarters to the other person. The other day, Haven had forgotten they were conjunxed.

 

“Don’t forget, you have that telecall with command today,” Haven tossed over his shoulder from the kitchen, and he heard Thinstreak sigh dramatically.

 

“I know,” he said, long-sufferingly, and Haven rolled his eyes at the fridge.

 

“Did you now?” he called, “because it’s in five minutes.”

 

Haven thought he heard a soft “shit” and some rustling, as Thinstreak hurriedly rushed to his office and shut the door. The doctor chuckled with a petty kind of amusement and grabbed a blanket from the bed, exiting through another door to go out in the hallway. He trudged his way back to his own office and threw the blanket onto the cot.

 

“What’s going on, Doc?” Palaver asked behind him, making him jump. He turned, puffing, and the smaller doctor extending hands. “Oh! Sorry, didn’t mean to give you spark arrest!”

 

“You’re fine, kid,” Haven said, waving it off. “And it’s nothing, Thinstreak and I are just… having some differences right now. Need some space.”

 

“Oh…” the minibot’s visor gleamed a sad blue. “Yeah, that thing with Chromepoint is terrible. I’m sorry.”

 

Haven’s brow furrowed. “Chromepoint? He’s one of the guards, what happened with him?”

 

Palaver’s rounded finials stood straight up, and his visor flashed brightly as all of his plating flared out. “Oh -- uh, uh, uh --”

 

Haven fought dread in his spark. Palaver couldn’t possibly mean that Thinstreak was -- was -- was stepping out on him. “Palaver, what do you mean?”

 

“I haven’t known for very long, hand to Primus,” he rushed to explain, hands out in a placating gesture. “Hell, I walked in on them two days ago! I thought you knew, honest, I thought that’s why you’d been sleeping here.”

 

Haven turned away, scrubbing a hand over his face to mask sudden tears. “You mean he’s really -- Thinstreak is really --”

 

“Cheating on you?” Palaver drooped, nodding. “Afraid so, Haven.”

 

The doctor tried to take deep breaths, but there were so many things happening in his spark that it was all he could do to fall into his chair, vents harsh and ragged. He choked out a couple of overwhelmed sobs into his hands and Palaver toddled forwards to pat his shoulder, field extending a comforting hand as well.

 

“I’m sorry you had to hear it from me,” he mumbled, “I really thought you knew.”

 

“S’not your fault, kid,” Haven muttered back, placing a hand over Palaver’s smaller one. “We’ve been distant for a while.”

 

“Yeah, but still,” Palaver said, concerned. “Why don’t you take the day off today, huh? I’ll take care of everything.”

 

“I’ve got patients,” Haven muttered, shrugging. “Besides, where would I go?”

 

Palaver mumbled agreement and hesitantly tottered away, giving Haven his space to cry as needed. The older doctor slogged through his day in a fog, dazed and shocked. As the day wore on, the shock turned into anger, and betrayal. What was he lacking that Thinstreak sought in others for company? What was so undesirable about him that Thinstreak couldn’t bother to return Haven’s attempts to communicate about their damn relationship for once in his life?

 

He waited up for the warden, sitting at the kitchen table with both sets of arms crossed and tapping a foot. Thinstreak shuffled in, yawning. “Evening,” he greeted Haven, and went to the fridge. “How was your day?”

 

“Hmph,” Haven snipped, livid. “How’s  _ Chromepoint _ doing?”

 

Thinstreak froze, but tried to play it cool. “Why are you interested in him? He’s alright.”

 

“Hm,” Haven said, admittedly putting on a bit of a performance. He’d been cheated on, he had a right to be a little over the top in his opinion. The air felt cold, and the light overhead the boxy little kitchen flickered. “My day was  _ fine _ , I guess, to answer your question. I learned something very interesting from Palaver today.”

 

“Look, will you stop jerking my chain and just tell me what the fuck you’re mad about?” Thinstreak said finally, getting frustrated.

 

Haven stood up, turning to face him, and recrossed his arms.  _ “You, _ Thinstreak of Vos, of the Penna family clan, are a dirty, lying, cheating  _ bastard!” _ With each adjective, Haven backed it up with a poke to the chest. He had to admit, watching Thinstreak’s eyes widen was deliciously satisfying. “What, am I not good enough? Instead of talking, you decide to go stick your spike in someone else?”

 

Thinstreak cried out in outrage. “How dare you accuse me of --”

 

“Palaver told me!” Haven yelled back, one hand chopping down to smack the palm of the other one with its side. “Palaver told me  _ all _ about you and Chromepoint!”

 

The jet quieted, clearing his throat, and turned away. “Perhaps I… I made a mistake recently.”

 

“A mistake with a happy ending?” Haven deadpanned, one eye ridge going up, and Thinstreak scoffed. 

 

“There’s no need to be crude, Doctor.”

 

“You cheated on me, Thinstreak!” Haven snapped, “and you’d better start apologizing because you’re lucky I haven’t called a divorce lawyer!”

 

_ “Divorce?” _ Thinstreak cried, whipping around to face him. “I made  _ one _ mistake!”

 

Haven put his face in his hands, trying to draw breath to keep himself calm, and burst into tears, lower arms tightly hugging his midsection. He could vaguely hear Thinstreak trying to soothe him, steering him into a chair with gentle hands. He just kept crying, overwhelmed by feelings of anger and sadness and betrayal and guilt and so many other things. Why couldn’t he keep this bonding together?

 

“Hey,” Thinstreak said, softly, “hey, hey. Haven, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t have -- had a fling with Chromepoint, you have every right to be upset. I just… we’ve been so distant lately, I wanted some company.”

 

“Then why don’t you do things with me, if you’re so lonely?” Haven accused, hiccuping. “All you have to do is  _ ask, _ T!”

 

“You turn me down,” the jet retorted, and Haven scoffed. 

 

“I meant for other things, not just interfacing,” he muttered, “and for the record, I turned down your advances because it feels like you don’t even love me any more.” The room went dead quiet other than Haven’s sniffling and hiccuping.

 

“How could you think that?” Thinstreak said, and he sounded hurt. Really hurt.

 

“You don’t want to do things with me,” Haven said, “You don’t ask about how I am, or how I slept, or anything. You don’t keep up with my interests. You don’t even seem  _ interested _ in me any more. What am I supposed to think, Thinstreak?”

 

“I stopped asking because you stopped responding,” Thinstreak muttered. Haven pulled away from him, just slightly.

 

“I stopped responding because I felt like you stopped caring,” he mumbled, and got up, shakily walking into the living room. “I can’t deal with this right now. I’m going to go smoke.”

 

“I thought you were trying to drop those things?”

 

“Ach,” Haven replied, swiping a hand and ending it with a sniffle. “I just found out my conjunx cheated on me. I deserve a good smoke break.”

 

Haven came back in thirty minutes later to find Thinstreak dozing on the couch. The jet woke up when the door closed, sniffing a little as he blinked sleep away. “M’awake,” he mumbled, and then became a little more alert. “Hey, Hav. So. I know I can’t really make up for what I did, but… I wanted to apologize.”

 

He gestured to the spread on the small table, including some electronic candles, a bottle of something fizzy, and two glasses. “So… I put this together while you were out. I guess I just… hadn’t realized how bad things had gotten.”

 

Haven sighed, the very last vestiges of smoke floating around him. “Yeah, I know.”

 

He shuffled over, and sat down, noticing that not only was the bottle non-engexic, there was a bowl of energon broth next to it. Thinstreak shrugged, a little shyly, and Haven had vivid images of a much younger-looking, much-happier looking Teebs. “In case you were, uh, too upset to chew.”

 

“Oh, thanks, T,” Haven mumbled quietly, gratefully, picking up the bowl and taking a spoonful to his mouth. It was warm all the way down, with good flavor, and he closed his eyes, appreciating it in the moment. Perhaps things could work out after all. Lots of people hit snags in their relationships, Haven told himself. These bumps could be weathered. After all, they still  _ loved _ each other, right?

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  
  


“Alright everyone,” Flux called, as her units scurried like ants in and out of the  _ Erstwhile Assemblance _ with their things. “Make sure to get everything from your rooms, because they’re going to higher officers after we leave!”

 

“Um, Sir?” one of her younger petty officers approached her. “Can you help me with a couple of boxes? It’s just, uh, my chronic stuff is acting up again. I’m not feeling great.”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Flux said, patting him on the shoulder. She was perfectly confident that she didn’t even need to notify her subordinates of her brief absence -- her chain of command was well-upkept. If subordinates couldn’t find her, they knew to immediately go to one of the Generals with their concerns instead. “Come with me, tell me what to get. Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, just hurts.”

 

“Taken a cybuprofen?”

 

“Four,” they said wryly, as the two walked out of the hangar, “in two hours.”

 

Flux hissed through her teeth. “You just tell me what to lift.”

 

“Oh, no, Sir, I couldn’t possibly-”

 

“Hey,” Flux said, stopping. The hallway lights bleached everything gray, except for the purple racing stripe down either wall, stretching horizontally in every hallway. “It’s perfectly alright, I’m happy to help. I’m your commanding officer, it’s my  _ job _ to look out for you.”

 

The younger officer nodded, looking away. “Yes, Sir.”

 

“Good. Now, come on. What should I get first?”

 

“Well, I collect decorative plates, so I managed to put them all in a box before the pain got too bad. The racks are still hanging on the wall.”

 

They got to his room, and Flux opened the door. The berth had been stripped according to regulation, and she did a cursory check while she was here. “Good job cleaning this up, by the way.” There were boxes in the center, and Flux hefted two under each arm. The officer scurried to grab another, and Flux glanced over. “Don’t overexert yourself, Petty Officer.”

 

“I’m not, Major General,” he puffed, lifting a smaller box with a grimace. “Promise. Many hands make light work.”

 

“That they do,” Flux agreed, and the two started the walk back. The younger officer hummed thoughtfully.

 

“Major General?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do we really have Hazard of Vos aboard? I heard he was a loose cannon.”

 

“We do,” Flux answered, “and Flyraid of Iacon as well. I’ve been a Major General for quite awhile, Chainsight -- not to brag, but I’d like to think I have a pretty good handle on who will work best with who. Flyraid and Hazard will be good influences on each other, I think.”

 

“Uh-huh.” 

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


Gadget knocked on Capacitor’s door before she walked in. The office was cramped, with tiny dust motes floating in the air. Files were stacked up on one side of Capacitor’s desk. She tweaked the nameplate to turn it a little more clearly facing the door. Gadget shuffled her feet in place and flicked a finial. “YOU WANTED TO SEE ME?”

 

“Yeah.” Cap sat back in her chair and gestured to one across from her desk. “Sit down.” 

 

Gadget hesitantly sat. Capacitor leaned forwards and steepled her fingers. It didn’t look right on her, for some reason. “So,” she said, tone leading,  “after your little stunt with that cute report of yours, I found someone who can keep you in check. Only took me an eon. You know, you’re dumber than you look if you didn’t think the lieutenant would give me a heads up about an incriminating report.  _ It’s all some big mistake, _ he thought. I said,  _ sure! _ But that’s not the point. Get ready to work with Cephalon of Tesarus. He’s coming in to supervise your mnemosurgery operations soon. He’s due next week.”

 

Gadget shifted in her seat. “OKAY. IS THAT ALL?”

 

Capacitor snorted, getting up and coming around the desk to sit propped against the front. “You are some piece of work, don’t you know that, No-Face?”

 

Gadget’s finials flattened and she looked away. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT.”

 

Capacitor nodded, mouth shrugging with her shoulders as she nodded. Then she surged forwards to grab Gadget’s right audial antennae in a tight fist, leaning close. Gadget scrabbled at her arm and hand, squeaking at the painful pulling sensation. Capacitor growled in her audial, shaking her fist once for emphasis. “ _ I _ am commander of this base, you little troublemaker. You try and oust me on some trumped up whiney complaints and you think you aren’t gonna catch it? You don’t get it, do you?  _ I _ am commander of this base, not anyone else. I got this position because I worked hard for it and I was recognized by high command as someone who gets fuckin’ results. Do you hear me?”

 

Gadget squeaked louder, canting her head to give her antennae some slack. The pain was razor-sharp, wires pulling and threatening to snap. Capacitor shook her fist again and Gadget squealed outright, claws scrabbling again. “I asked you a  _ question, _ you fuckin’ lab rat!”

 

“YES I HEAR YOU OW PLEASE LET GO,” Gadget begged, spark pounding. Capacitor had never hurt her before, she didn’t want to die. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but who knew what the commander was capable of. Capacitor snorted.

 

“The next time, I’m gonna rip these things right out of your fuckin’ head,” she snarled, and let go, dramatically splaying her fingers wide as she pulled her hand away. “Get the fuck out.”

 

Gadget got up, claws coming up to delicately cradle her bent antennae. She did her best to scurry out, venting labored, but Capacitor called for her to wait when she was in the doorway.

 

“Are you going to see ReDouble tonight? You guys got something planned?”

 

“MAYBE?”

 

“No you don’t,” Capacitor asserted, and jerked her chin out quickly. “Go.”

 

Gadget fled, not bothering to shut the door as she transformed and left skid marks in the hallway on her way back to her room. She knew she should probably go to the medibay for her antennae, but people would ask questions about how her antennae got so bent. She could probably just tweak them back into alignment herself. She came to a running stop after transforming back in front of her door and hurriedly went in, slamming the door shut behind herself. Gingerly, with shaking claws, she reached up, fumbling to get a grip on her antennae. They were bent nearly perpendicular. 

 

Her claws weren’t for this kind of work -- she cried out when the razor-sharp edge of one sliced into the wire covering on the antennae, and sagged in defeat. She’d have to go to the medibay for this. Perhaps she could say she fell, or hit a door. Those were plausible. After her last attempt at reporting Capacitor’s behavior, she had no intention of doing it again -- especially not since Capacitor had turned physical.

 

To add injury to injury, she got a comm from ReDouble.  **:Hey, sorry Gadget, but I have to cancel tonight. Cap wants to have dinner, and it’s just that it’s been ages, I know I’m being a flake. Really, I am sorry. Rain check for tomorrow?:**

 

Gadget vented raggedly, antennae hurting and spark aching. She commed back,  **:yeah, you’re fine. enjoy dinner, redouble.:**

 

**:Thank you thank you thank you, oh you are a vision from Primus!:**

 

Gadget couldn’t fault ReDouble for skipping. He was just so fucking nice. He probably didn’t even know the way that Capacitor was treating her. He likely had no idea. It wasn’t as if Capacitor broadcasted the nastier stuff. It dawned on her that she could just tell him, but… what would that accomplish? She’d put strain on their relationship and there was always the possibility that ReDouble wouldn’t even believe her in the first place. She went into the medibay when Aberhalde was off-shift, dodging questions about how her antennae were bent.

 

The doctor frowned at her. “Huh. Yeah, okay. Uh, could you just stay there for a minute? I need to get something else to patch this up.”

 

“UH. YEAH.” Gadget waited nervously, legs swinging as she sat on the edge of the bed, and looked over her shoulder as the doctor walked back in with some more tools. Two minutes later, Capacitor walked in, and Gadget tried not to let her finials flatten.

 

“Hey, doc, I heard something was up with Gadget?”

 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” the doctor murmured, glancing over at Gadget before steering Cap to another corner of the room. He pulled the curtain around the empuratee’s bed for good measure, and, panicked, she strained to listen. “She came in here for bent antennae. Says she hit a doorframe hard, but…”

 

“You’re not buying it,” Capacitor responded.

 

“No,” the doctor responded immediately. “You don’t get that kind of torsion by running into a doorframe, I don’t care  _ what _ angle you’re at. From what I can tell, it looks like someone grabbed them and twisted them, hard. She’s lucky they didn’t come off.”

 

“Aw, hell. So you think that… someone’s-?”

 

“Abusing her, or at the very least this was an altercation gone very much not in her favor,” the doctor murmured. “But her behavior and the excuse, just…” he sighed. “Look, I just did my job as a mandatory reporter. Thought you should know.”

 

“Yeah, thanks. Let me know if she comes in again, see if we can nail the bastard.”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

Footsteps, and the doctor came and pulled the curtain away. Gadget flinched, and stared warily at Capacitor’s retreating figure. She fervently prayed she wouldn’t catch shit for seeking medical attention -- she’d given the best excuse she’d thought of. She sat anxiously through the painful correction of her antennae and nearly ran from the medibay, wanting to be alone. She hid under her sheets and blankets for the rest of the night, eventually drifting into fitful sleep that left her more tired than when she’d gone to sleep. 

 

Cephalon’s arrival on Tebba marked a definite improvement in Capacitor’s mood. She was delighted to see someone she thought could keep Gadget in check. The empurata was working in the lab when Capacitor brought him to see her, smile big on her face.

 

“And this here is who you’ll be working with,” she grandstanded, sweeping an arm out to Gadget, who was refining a batch of Asher’s Bleach to be sent out. Gadget looked him over. He was lanky, with two pairs of forearms and delicate hands. Mnemosurgeon’s needles extended like chapel spires from his fingertips, and he inclined his helm to her. She flattened her finials in nervousness. Never trust a mnemosurgeon, that was for sure. She huffed out a vent and looked away from his eyes.

 

“GADGET OF CARTHEX,” she responded, going back to her tests. “CHARMED.”

 

“Ah,” Cephalon said quietly, most likely recognizing the accent. “Cephalon of Tesarus. The pleasure is all mine, Gadget. Commander Capacitor here was showing me around -- do you have a moment to show me what you’ve been working with?”

 

“I NEED TO STABILIZE THIS REACTION FIRST,” she tossed back distractedly, taking a few moments. Then, she left the sample on a holding rack, and turned to them. “ALRIGHT. UH, WE DON’T HAVE THE BEST MATERIALS, BUT WE’VE BEEN MAKING DO.” 

 

“I’m sure it’s been fine,” Cephalon said pleasantly, as all three took a trip down to Gadget’s recently-set-up mnemosurgery station-closet-office. His facial expression fell when he took it all in, frowning a little. 

 

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted, I’ve got paperwork to do,” Cap said, and left them. Cephalon hummed thoughtfully, top right forearm coming up to allow his hand to brush his chin.

 

“You were right,” he murmured, “you are short on materials. So, I assume you don’t have mnemosurgeon needles already implanted. Where are your disposables? May I see them?”

 

“OH, UH.” Gadget flared her vents. “I ACTUALLY USE THIS. IT’S ALL THEY LET ME WORK WITH.” She held up her tri-claw and flared the claws, allowing the center panel to iris back. Up pushed her needle, and Cephalon’s eyes widened. 

 

“Oh, good heavens,” he said, and frowned thunderously. “Absolutely not, this isn’t even close to regulation standard. What’s your background in mnemosurgery?”

 

“I READ A COUPLE OF BOOKS,” Gadget offered, and Cephalon looked as if he might faint.

 

“This absolutely will not do,” he said, firmly, “we’ll have to get you a new needle, and I’ll teach you what you need to know. We’ll simply have them add in a rotator for that needle, how’s that? Yes, I think that’s perfect. And we need to organize this supply closet, it’s nowhere close to medical standard. It’s more like a… hm. A lab supply closet, maybe.”

 

“I WORK IN THE LAB. ONE OF THE SENIOR TECHS. MY MAIN INTEREST IS COMPUTER CODING AND BIOMECHANICS.”

 

“Ah,” Cephalon said, “that must have been where the commander pulled you from. Yes, I think I’ve heard of you.”

 

“WERE YOU WITH THE SENATE?”

 

“Er, yes.”

 

Gadget’s finials flattened, her antennae with them. “I DON’T LIKE YOU.” 

 

“Understandable,” Cephalon said, “but it looks as if we have a job to do.”

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


Flux and her units launched as soon as everyone got settled in. The ship was still barrenly new, looking hardly lived in. Major General Flux’s first official edict as captain of her very own ship was for everyone to pitch in and make it a little more homey.

 

“After all,” she explained in her announcement, “this  _ is _ our home. We’re going to be living on here for the foreseeable future, guys. Why not make it a place we want to come back to, somewhere we like being? You all can decorate your rooms however you like, wall paint and all. We’ll have to get together and vote on how we want the common areas to look, since they are common areas.”

 

She finished her announcement and stood back from the speaker, releasing the broadcast button. Carapace grabbed her shoulder and heartily shook it, stoic face arranged into something that could have been a smile if one squinted. Pride radiated off of cer face, but mostly because it shone through cer field. “Look how far we’ve come, Sir.”

 

“Indeed,” Flux exhaled, a great whoosh of air. “I’m so excited to get this all together. I’ve got to make a sign for my door, you know? Oh, I’ll do it now. Take care of things on the bridge while I’m gone.”

 

“Of course, Sir.”

 

Flux left the bridge, still swimming in exuberance. This was her ship! Her whole family was aboard with her, and the stars were the limit! She very nearly forgot there was a war going on, for a solid few seconds. She reached her quarters, and went inside, grabbing a blank datapad and a stylus. She stood in the living room, forgetting to sit down as she drew up a spinner wheel with sections. Section 1 read “In my Office” and had tiny Decepticon insignias in the background (her office was directly adjacent to her quarters). Section 2 read “Asleep” and had two moons and some clouds. Section 3 read “On the Bridge”, section 4 had “Off Shift!” written down, and section 5 had “Comm me” scrawled in it. Satisfied, Flux drew up a spinner, highlighted it as movable, and tested it with a finger, spinning it around. Satisfied with the way it moved, she went outside and put up the datapad by her door, mounting it with some tacky hooks. She spun the pointer to “On the Bridge”, smiled at her work, and left.

 

Carapace was there to greet her, along with Regus and Oracle, Unit Three's general. Flux took her seat in the Captain's chair, glancing at the other three occupied monitors. Conure was hard at work at one, the other two vanguard Generals at their respective stations. Flux rested her elbow on the armrest and her chin on her fist. “Alright then. General Oracle, set a course for Quadrant X, if you would.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

Trying to hide her delighted smile, Flux grabbed a datapad from her subspace and pulled up reports to process. While Megatron had stopped taking morale reports centuries ago, Flux had very much kept it in practice. Occasionally, to make a point, she would send him the stats from before and after an unpopular decision. He ignored them.

 

But usually, Flux just used them to check up on her subordinates as a whole. Thanks to her open attitude and anonymous reporting function, her stats were unusually transparent. Morale was up by nearly 70 percent. The introduction of Hazard had dropped it a couple of percentage points, but Flux had a feeling for this. It would work out.

 

Speaking of, she should probably go check on the medibay to see how the doctors were settling in. She rose, announced that she was stepping out for a moment, and put her datapad away. It was freeing to have such trust in her Generals. Other Major Generals she knew reported feelings of distrust and worry that their underlings weren't getting the job done -- but Flux was safe in the knowledge that her chain of command was a well-oiled machine, each cog turning in its place. They hit snags now and again -- as to be expected, nobody was perfect -- but they were fixable.

 

She left the bridge, heavy footsteps clunking down the hall. As she passed her room, she adjusted the needle and thought briefly that she had to fix it so she could alter it remotely. Then she moved on, and knocked on the medibay doors before opening. “Hey there. Everything alright in here?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Hazard said, tossing a smile her way. He was cleaning up, having already set up the medibay as soon as he was on board. Flyraid was kicked back in a chair, throwing scraps of plastic at him to be annoying. The jet glared at him for a fraction of a second, and then directed his attention back to his commanding officer. “Something you needed?”

 

“Just checking in,” Flux offered, shrugging, and didn’t look at Flyraid. “And, Flyraid? You’re on shift, it’s not appropriate for you to be hounding the CMO like that.”

 

“Why couldn’t  _ I _ be CMO?” the helicopter complained, chucking the plastic chips at the floor instead. 

 

“Because you’re headstrong,” Flux said, truthfully and a tinge chastisingly. “You need guidance before you can come into your own entirely. It’s not a bad thing, Flyraid. You’re just less experienced.”

 

Flyraid grumbled something, but did settle down. Flux took it as a go to keep speaking. “I’m hoping you two can overcome your differences. Put together, I think you’d both be the best crack team this side of the star system.”

 

Hazard nodded attentively, but Flyraid wasn’t even looking at them. Flux ignored it, perfectly confident he was hearing the conversation. If he wanted to act this way, the Major General wasn’t going to feed into the problem by giving him material to rebel against. One of these days, they would need to sit down and get to the root of just why he felt the need to act that way, but now wasn’t the time. Flux glanced around at the medibay’s setup, sweeping a careful eye over it. “Good job with the organization.”

 

She started to leave, but Hazard cleared his throat. “Sir?”

 

“Yes, Hazard?”

 

“It’s been eating at me. Why did you pick me, other than to pair with my fellow doctor? Lots of people could have mentored Flyraid.”

 

Flux smiled, and turned back to face him fully before crossing her arms and casually leaning in the doorway. “Hazard, you were dishonorably discharged from the Autobots for a move  _ so _ gutsy even the maddest of scientists couldn’t take it. But it worked. I like your ingenuity. I like your drive, and your determination to run a tight ship. I like the fact that you do listen to people, but at the end of the day you do what you feel is right, not what someone tells you.”

 

Hazard nodded, yellow eyes wide. “Thank you, Sir.”

 

“Of course. Comm me if you need anything.” And Flux left, returning to the bridge and tweaking the spinner on her way back. Conure smiled at her as she sat down.

 

“So, Fluxie,” she said, peppy, “where to now?”

 

“Same direction as we’ve been going, Conure,” Flux joked, leaning back in her chair. She took a deep vent, and allowed the joy of the moment to consume her before letting it flow out with the exhale. Already her fuel pressure felt like it had dropped considerably. She hadn’t even realized that she’d really been  _ that _ stressed out. It felt like she had been wearing weights without even realizing it, and this was only after a few days’ worth of traveling. 

 

Flux’s shift on the bridge passed without event, and she witnessed a couple Generals change shift with subordinates on the consoles. When her shift was over, she clocked out and went back to her room, changing the spinner accordingly before going inside. She glanced around, still not used to having such extravagant quarters. These very well could have been nicer than her living arrangements in Middle Crestover, and that was a lifetime ago!

 

Feeling a little unsure of what to do with herself, Flux sat down on the couch, and called up the video chat function on the holovid screen. She decided to call Clout. She and the tank had had fleeting conversations, but Clout had been busy on away missions herself before Flux even had this ship. The dial tone rang for a couple of times, and then Clout picked up, face coming into focus. “Hey there, stranger.”

 

“Hey, Clout,” Flux beamed, wings perking up. She ignored the increase in her sparkbeat, most definitely not from fluttery things. Maybe there were flutters. She didn’t know. “How are you?”

 

“Great, I got a shift in a couple hours. What’s up?”

 

“Just wanted to talk to you,” Flux answered honestly. “I miss you.”

 

Clout grinned. “Miss you too, sweet thing. Wish I could be there.”

 

“Yeah, me too. Say, I do have a question. When’s the next Conclave meeting? I have it written down somewhere, but I just can’t remember right now.”

 

“Oh, hell, you had to ask. Uh, a few months, I think? Like three.”

 

Flux nodded, relaxing back into her cushions a little more. “Thanks. So… is this what it’s like, having captain’s quarters? I don’t think I’ve ever had a space this big, all for me, in my whole life.”

 

“Yeah, it’s a punch to the gut, I’ll give ya that.”

 

“I’m a little freaked out, I don’t know what to do with so much space! I’ve got my own miniature kitchen setup in the common room here, you know. A bedroom, a washracks with a tub  _ and _ a shower, an office… it feels like a mansion. I feel a little guilty, almost!”

 

“Don’t,” Clout said shrewdly, “You’ve earned it. You’re a Major General.”

 

“Well, yeah, but --”

 

“No buts. Seriously, Fluxie, you need to chill out. Hey, I’ve gotta get going, but…” Clout glanced her up and down and smirked. “Call me back later and we could have another type of conversation.”

 

Flux grinned back, tilting her helm. The lights were soft in the common living area, not entirely due to its occupant’s preliminary efforts to soften the space. Flux liked to live in gentleness. Her walls were painted a soft, pastel purple, with light gray accents. She saw enough harshness everywhere else -- it didn’t need to invade her living space as well. Clout was the only harsh thing about her surroundings -- Clout was all angles and grit, with whiffs of cygar smoke and the cut-yourself edges from the badges down her arms. “Oh, yeah? What kind of conversation?”

 

“The kind you wanna lock your door for,” Clout answered, and made a crude gesture with her hand and her mouth. It made Flux snort a laugh.

 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll let you go, Clout. Thanks for chatting, it was nice catching up.”

 

Flux hung up, and sighed, looking around. It was late-ish, but not so late that she could justify going to bed. She got up, fixed herself a suitable dinner, and ate it while reading a story at the table. She got so absorbed in the plot that it took her three hours to finish dinner. Finally deciding that it was acceptable to get into bed, take care of some ahem, needs, and go to sleep, she put the book away and washed her dishes. 

 

The cargo plane poked her head outside, grabbed the spinner datapad, and hooked it into a smaller one she carried with her. Then, she tested the smaller one as a remote, altering the spinner needle from it. It worked! Delighted, she hung the spinner back up, and set the needle to “Asleep”. After that, she went to shower, had a very pleasant rendezvous with the showerhead, and promptly fell into a deep sleep in her plush bed. The next day, she found out that the next Conclave meeting was actually two months away, but Clout had probably just mixed things up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are really heating up. or falling apart, i'm not sure. but hey, flux has a ship! 
> 
> what do you guys think is going to happen?
> 
> (also, i'm currently unable to post about chapters being uploaded because i think I've managed to piss off a transphobe on twitter, and they're reporting my tweets about anti-terfness. I'm currently banned from my twitter account completely until my appeal gets through, so you might want to bookmark this story if you want to keep up with it! <3)


	15. Consanguinate, Articulate, Homogenate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flux and Clout have a little more trouble in paradise, Capacitor continues to browbeat Gadget, and Gadget and Redouble's friendship is still going strong. Chermiin settles into having Fortress Maximus as warden, and Flux's units have settled into their new ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers:**
> 
> **emotional abuse from a superior starting at paragraph 24 and ending at paragraph 37, counting single sentence paragraphs.**
> 
> **Mostly okay but slightly dubious consent due to not verbally asking/being a little pushy starting paragraph 113 and ending paragraph 121.**
> 
> **Slight drug mention in paragraph 190, ending in the same paragraph.**
> 
> **if you need anything else tagged, please let me know!**

“And, how long would you say you’ve been having that particular recurring nightmare?” The mech across from Socketchip asked pleasantly, datapad not necessarily poised in his hands, but certainly at the ready. 

 

The minibot shrugged, at a bit of a loss. “Definitely since the war started. I know I didn’t have it before.”

 

“Would you like to go over it?”

 

“Not much to go over. There’s blaster fire, everyone’s screaming, everyone’s dying, and then I’m looking down the barrel of a blaster. I either wake up before it fires or I wake up after someone yells for it to stop.”

 

“Interesting,” the psychiatrist readily encouraged, gentle orange plating shining in the light. He was here for Wreckers’ evaluations. He’d come by, on and off, a few times before. “Are there any specific details that keep showing up?”

 

“Yeah, actually. Um, Saeva always falls on top of me, and the person yelling to stop is always the same person. I can never figure out who it is because I always wake up. And Starscream is there a lot of the time, which is kind of weird.”

 

“Hm.” Rung frowned thoughtfully. “What you’re describing sounds similar to the Senate murders -- were you, by any chance, present when that happened?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Socketchip offered, blanking on it. “I don’t remember being there. But I guess it’s possible.”

 

“Your brain module might have blocked it out,” Rung coached, gently. “But before we go trying to recover buried memories, let’s make sure they’re real memories and not something we can dredge up with suggestion. Do you remember where you were on that date, at all?”

 

“No,” Socketchip said, shaking his little helm. “It’s kind of a blank hole. I have a feeling something negative happened, but that was about it. I mean, I couldn’t have been there, right? They would have killed me.”

 

“Well, you weren’t a Senator,” Rung said. “It’s possible someone spared your life, if you  _ were _ there. Where do you think you might have been on that date and at that time?”

 

“I… don’t know,” The tiny Wrecker confessed. “Saeva always took me in as a laser pointer. He never let me skip meetings, but I always had to be in my altmode. He had to know I was there, but no one else could be inconvenienced by seeing me, or whatever. And that meeting wasn’t classified or anything, especially not to the point where he couldn’t bring me. I guess… I could have been doing some of his paperwork? But he made me put all of that down and drop everything to come to meetings with him. But if I was there in that hall, I would definitely remember it. Wouldn’t I?”

 

“Not necessarily,” Rung said, gently. “Again, it’s possible your brain sort of… painted over it, to make you more comfortable and to cope with it. In all honesty, Socketchip, based on what you’ve told me, I think your recurring nightmare  _ is _ a memory. If you’d like, we could work on recovering it, piece by piece. It might help stop your brain playing it on repeat when you sleep in an effort to process what happened.”

 

“If the nightmare is that bad…” Socketchip mumbled, “I’m not sure if I want to remember it.”

 

“That’s totally fine, and there’s no pressure to do it now,” Rung said, “But if you deal with this in the right way, it  _ will _ make it easier to heal and move on. Pretending it didn’t happen and simply refusing to process won’t do any favors for you. We don’t have to start today, if you’d rather not. You could make a follow-up appointment and we could try to work on it from there.”

 

“Yeah, yeah…” The little wrecker mumbled. “That’d be nice.”

 

“Great! Let’s go ahead and schedule that, shall we?”

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


Gadget watched her newly added second needle click into place, and she turned her claw, studying it. It was slim, tiny, delicate. She finished studying it, and put it away, glancing over at Cephalon. “SO, NOW WHAT?”

 

“Now, I show you the basics of mnemosurgery,” Cephalon said, placing a top hand on her shoulder to steer her out of the medibay and down the hall to their now-joint office. Minorly uncomfortable at the touch, Gadget fluttered a claw down by her side, resisting the urge to flap. “I heard about your first patient. I’m impressed, really. It’s hard to keep an operation on the rails without any real training.”

 

Gadget wasn’t sure if he was belittling her. Her gut told her he was, but her spark told her he wasn’t. They walked into the office, his hand having since dropped, and he strode over to his desk, stacking up datapads in his arms and ferrying them over to her to dump them into hers. “For a start, you need to read these. If you’d like, I can certainly quiz you on them. Commander Capacitor has an interrogation slotted for tomorrow morning -- you can shadow me. Obviously, you don’t have to have all of those read by then, but I’d like you to start on them.”

 

Gadget didn’t nod, but stood attentive, more than a little stunned. She was used to feeling like the expert in code and biocode -- now she felt like she was floundering, adrift in information. The scope was far too broad for her taste. “UH. YEAH.”

 

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then -- and I’ll leave you to the reading.”

 

He left her, and Gadget was left standing alone in the center of the room with an armful of datapads. At a loss, she idled over to her own desk and sat, dumping them onto the desk and pawing through them for one to read first. Afternoon turned into evening, evening into night, and Gadget ploughed through her material, eventually falling asleep at her desk as night turned into morning.

 

She was woken up by Capacitor opening and closing the door. “Sleeping on the job, huh?”

 

Gadget shook sleep away and shivered. Then the anxiety set in. “I FELL ASLEEP AT MY DESK LAST NIGHT DOING THE MNEMOSURGERY READINGS.”

 

“Nice, dumbass,” Cap snarked, looking her up and down. Gadget checked the chronometer. Only a couple minutes before Cephalon was supposed to come on shift. “Maybe I should put you in the baby lab.”

 

Gadget spread her arms. “I’VE DONE NOTHING WRONG. IN FACT, I SHOULD BE BILLING OVERTIME BECAUSE I DIDN’T CLOCK OUT.”

 

“You don’t  _ make _ hourly, you fucking moron,” Capacitor snarled, “you get a stipend.”

 

“I KNOW, BUT-”

 

“Just  _ try _ to get something right this morning?” Capacitor said, in very clear bad faith. The door opened behind her as she kept speaking. “I honestly don’t have the patience to humor your mind-numbing stupidity for much longer.”

 

“Is there a problem?” Cephalon said, voice soft as he crept around Capacitor from behind. His voice held neither sympathy nor accusement -- just query. The commander collected herself and sighed. 

 

“No, just a little disagreement. You guys ready to start?”

 

“Gadget,” Cephalon said, gaze turning to her. “How much of that reading did you get done?”

 

“ABOUT TWO THIRDS.”

 

“Impressive! Then come with me; the prisoner is being prepped for interrogation. You won’t be doing any injecting today, but you can just shadow along.”

 

“Careful with this one,” Cap said cheerfully, landing a heavy couple of pats to Gadget’s shoulder as the empuratee passed. “She’s hardheaded.”

 

“That hasn’t been my experience,” Cephalon said neutrally, and Gadget scurried the rest of the way to catch up with him, leaving Capacitor behind. The walls were more of a matte gray down here than the lab floor -- a streak of dull, chipped red flared down the wall as if following them. When they were sufficiently out of earshot, the mnemosurgeon checked over his shoulder and then looked at Gadget. “Does that happen very often?”

 

Gadget shrugged, one set of claws coming to grab the other elbow. “SHE’S UNDER A LOT OF PRESSURE TO DO WELL. LAST COMMANDER GOT SHOT AND SHE GOT NAMED AS SUCCESSOR ONLY BECAUSE HE DIDN’T SPECIFY WHO SHOULD TAKE THE JOB.”

 

“So she was his second in command, or-?”

 

“SHE WAS THE ONE WHO AUTOBOT HIGH COMMAND SAW HANDLE THE CRISIS. SO THEY AWARDED COMMAND TO HER. SHE JUST RUNS A TIGHT SHIP, THAT’S ALL.”

 

“There’s a difference between a tight ship and browbeating your subordinates,” Cephalon murmured. 

 

Gadget shied away at his line of questioning. She didn’t want to talk about this. To make matters worse, she felt like ReDouble was starting to drift apart from her. He was her only real friend. The loneliness she felt most nights now was suffocating. 

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

“I’M FINE,” she said, hurriedly, and glanced up. Mercifully, their destination was fast approaching. “LET’S JUST GET TO WORK.” She ran the last few steps and opened the door, letting him through first. He inclined his head to her, and looked like he wanted to ask a few more questions, but let the matter drop. Gadget almost purged she was so relieved (and anxious). Thankfully, her intake structure allowed her to do no such thing, but her tanks churned away for hours after that -- making it near impossible to focus on what Cephalon was teaching her.

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


Havoc fiddled angrily with a trinket from her desk, spark simmering with pent-up energy. She’d been off-kilter for a couple of months now. It was infuriating and she couldn’t get to what the problem was. Even Sunbeam and Kardyo had noticed something was off. Sunbeam was smart enough to give her a wider berth -- Kardyo was not. This had filled the medibay with discordance until Megatron himself had stepped in to settle an argument. Havoc tuned out his angry lecture and shouted something crude at him as he left.

 

There was a Conclave meeting in a couple of days. Flux was due back any time now. Havoc was worried she wouldn’t make it. Megatron was itching for any excuse to kick her off of the Conclave. Havoc wasn’t stupid -- she saw it plain as day. She just hoped that Flux could see it and take whatever measures she needed. The Decepticons had taken on masses of people like Havoc -- but people like Flux were few and far between these days.

 

Speak of the devil -- there was a knock at the medibay door, and Flux stood in its frame as it opened, enveloped by the glow of the overhead lighting. Her smile was gentle, ecstatic upon laying eyes on Havoc’s face. The jet dropped her trinket. “Uh. Hey. Are you-?”

 

“Back? For a week or two, yes.” Flux advanced, cheeks a little pink as she leaned one hand on Havoc’s desk. “It’s good to see you again, Havoc.”

 

“How does having your own ship feel?”

 

“Oh, it's wonderful,” Flux sighed. The medibay was empty save for the two of them, and Havoc swivelled all the way around in her chair to face the cargo plane, who kept speaking. “It's so much less… stressful. And my units, they're really loving the -- freedom? I suppose… the point is, we get to cut up a little more than we would here.” 

 

“Bet Conure loves  _ that,” _ Havoc smirked, eyes lifting to follow Flux’s face as she came to a stop in front of the medic. Flux laughed, slate gray plating shining in the light, and when she relaxed, her golden eyes shone down on the medic like a set of particularly fond suns. Havoc looked at her hands, not sure what to do with the fizzing feeling in her spark that was steadily replacing the simmering. It was in her tanks, too.

 

“Yeah, her and everyone else,” Flux chuckled, and then sighed. “I missed you, Havoc.” She leaned down to affectionately peck the medic on the forehead, but Havoc looked up, intending to ask her what she was doing. Their lips pressed together by accident, both of them freezing for a moment. Awkwardly, they separated, apologizing to the other. Flux’s cheeks were flushed for real now. “Oh, god, sorry,” Flux mumbled, stepping back a pace or two. “That was an accident.”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Havoc muttered back, a little flustered as well. A quick glance at the cargo plane’s stature and features informed her that… well, she wouldn’t have minded if it wasn’t an accident. Flux would have another GP now -- it wasn’t against her code of ethics if they wanted to do that again. “How’s Clout?”

 

“God,” Flux groaned, turning away and putting her face in her palm. “We’re having difficulties. She’s kind of pushy.”

 

“Dump her,” Havoc suggested, shrugging.

 

“But I do like her!”

 

“Do you think you’re getting what you need out of that relationship?”

 

“No…”

 

“Dump her ass.”

 

Flux snorted a little laugh, and turned around to face the doctor. Havoc remained unmoved, even doubling down with an eyebrow lift. “You really think that’ll help? Clout’s not the kind of person to let something go so easily.”

 

“Well, that’s her problem,” Havoc responded, crossing her arms. “Do you even  _ like _ dating her?”

 

“Well,” Flux said, hesitating. She was struggling to come up with an answer, but her silence spoke volumes. “The ‘facing is good.”

 

“Anything else?” Havoc deadpanned. “Look, I’m not saying I never got with someone just for the spike, but you don’t seem very happy with her.”

 

“No, I… I guess I’m not. She’s pushy and insecure, and she covers it with bravado. It’s just not my thing.”

 

“So, dump her.”

 

“It’s not that simple!” Flux said, and the lights flickered overhead. Havoc shrugged slowly, her arms still crossed as her eyes cut to the side in a roll. 

 

“Uh… yeah, it is. You might really, really like her, but not be in love with her. Are you?”

 

“No,” Flux said, “but neither of us meant for it to be long-term.”

 

“Then axe it. You said it yourself. Neither of you meant it to be long term -- if you’re not happy, it’s been long enough.”

 

Flux sighed, and smiled. “What would I do without you?”

 

“Die, maybe,” Havoc joked, and watched as the cargo plane laughed.

 

“Have a drink with me.”

  
  
“I think I will,” Havoc said, bringing out a bottle of high-grade from a bottom desk drawer. Flux snorted at it, raising one fat, short, gray eyebrow. “Yeah, I know. I don’t drink on the job, get off my spike.”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Flux said, raising her hands and looking away. “Pass me a cup.”

 

“Don’t have any,” Havoc said, taking a swig from the bottle. “Do you mind drinking after me?”

 

“I guess I don’t,” Flux chuckled, and took the bottle when it was offered. The engex burned on the way down, making her cough, and she registered Havoc laughing at her in the background of the fire. “Shut up,” she rasped out, grinning as she handed the bottle back and wiping her mouth with the back of her other hand. “You are so mean.”

 

“I gotta be, or I’ll lose my reputation,” Havoc said, taking the bottle back and slurping down another swig, easily. “I’m glad you made it in time for the Conclave meeting.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Flux said, croaky as she recovered. “I almost didn’t, you know? Clout told me it was a month from now. I’m lucky I checked or I would’ve missed it! I really don’t know if I can break up with her, Havoc. I really do like her, you know? As pushy and as insecure as she can be, she can be really nice. And funny. And she’s really hot,” Flux bemoaned the last bit, eyes pulling up with her eyebrows. 

 

Havoc snorted. “I have a feeling you’re thinking more with your valve than your brain on this one, Flux.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Look.” Havoc grew serious, sitting up a little. She took another drink from the bottle; as she started speaking again, she passed it to Flux, who took it, eyes still rooted to the jet. “I, uh, I didn’t want to tell you this because I didn’t want to get involved in that messy relationship shit. Clout’s stringing you on, Flux.”

 

“What?”

 

“She’s playing you.”

 

“What, like she’s cheating on me or something? We never specified it was exclusive, I know she's seen other people here and there.”

 

“Mm-nm.” Havoc grunted, shaking her head. “Not that I’ve seen. But, uh… what day did you check in with her about the Conclave meeting?”

 

“Oh, uh, two months ago? I don’t remember what day.”

 

“She was in here a week ago taking a bet on whether you would miss this one or not,” Havoc said, tiredly. “Yucking it up with a buddy about how she’d told you the wrong date on purpose. Her buddy was in for a leg injury, and she was hovering, so I told her to get the fuck out. But uh, she’d been yakking his ear off about it for five minutes. Seemed awful proud of herself.”

 

“You’re lying,” Flux accused, desperate for it not to be true. “Why in the world would she do that?”

 

“You know the way she votes, you’ve complained about it before,” Havoc said. “Look, I really didn’t want to tell you. I was hoping that I could convince you to dump her without it getting this messy.”

 

“But why would she want to try and get me kicked off?”

 

“Megatron’s got his hand up her exhaust to the elbow,” Havoc grumbled. “I’m surprised you two lasted as long as you did, and I'm surprised he hasn't got his fingers playing her mouth struts his hand's so far up there. I’ve got a video of her bragging about the misinfo, if you want proof.”

 

“No, no, I… I believe you,” Flux mumbled, clearly crushed. “I just… I knew we had our differences, but I was hoping that we could -- you know, get over it for the duration of our fling.”

 

“I know caring about people is kinda your schtick,” Havoc deadpanned. “But it seemed that Clout really only thought of you as a fling. Sorry. If you wanted it broken compassionately, I’m not your mech.”

 

“Oh, I know,” Flux said, “It’s not that, I’m just… ugh. I should have seen it.”

 

“Nah,” Havoc said, “It’s not your fault. Pass me the bottle.” Flux did, and Havoc took a gulp. “Clout’s a dick. You’re better off without her.”

 

“Yeah,” Flux muttered, “I’m starting to think you’re right, Havoc.”

 

“I’m always right,” Havoc joked, and Flux snorted. 

 

“Yeah, and I’m a toaster. So, uh. When should I…?”

 

“I can’t make that decision for you, Flux. Whenever you want to.”

 

“But I don’t want to,” Flux mumbled, looking at her large hands. The medibay’s cooling vents hummed in the background, and the doors opened as Sunbeam reported for his shift. Both planes waved to him, and he cheerfully waved back, oblivious to the intense discussion. As he drifted out of earshot, Flux continued. “I’m… I’m scared to.”

 

“Then you need a kick in the ass, Flux,” Havoc said bluntly. “You’re a Major General in the Decepticon Army. Autobots tell little bedtime stories about you to get newframes to eat their minerals or something.”

 

“Pretty sure that’s not what bedtime stories are for,” Flux said wryly, and then sighed. “You’re right. No time like the present, I guess. Although… maybe I should just do it after the Conclave meeting?”

 

“Maybe, Flux. I dunno.”

 

“Mm.” Flux sighed. “I’m gonna go get settled into my room for the week, okay? See you later.”

 

“You got my frequency,” Havoc waved her off, raising the bottle to her on her way out.

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


Flux sighed as soon as the door shut behind her, spark swirling. She and Clout weren’t deeply in love or anything of the sort -- but Flux liked to think they had a mutual respect for one another, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized that that… just wasn’t true. Clout frequently trampled over her boundaries in the bedroom and in life, complained for ages about her own problems while not paying as much attention to Flux’s, and tried to make her feel guilty about voting the way she did on the Conclave. Perhaps it really was best to break it off.

 

She got back to her room, and typed in the temporary code to open her door. Right away, the cramped conditions pressed on her. She supposed she’d gotten used to Captain’s quarters -- she took a moment to sink into the feeling of discomfort and remind herself that not everyone had luxury. After a few moments of rerouting her thoughts, she opened her eyes with a new appreciation for the space given to her for her stay. She put her things away from her subspace, and sat on the bed, pulling out a book. She didn’t quite know what else to do with herself.

 

A knock on the door startled her. Putting the datapad away, she went to answer it. Clout stood in the doorway with a bouquet of cyber-lilies, smile devilishly handsome. Even as dread pooled in Flux’s spark, desire pooled in her gut. “Uh, hey, Clout,” she mumbled, smiling a little. The tank muscled her way in, chucking the bouquet in a long shot onto the bed and grasping Flux by the face, shoving her back into the wall before devouring her lips in a hungry kiss. The cargo plane squeaked, and Clout groaned low through her nose. Flux let herself melt into the kiss, arms locking behind Clout’s back. Perhaps she could just tell the tank a little later… after all, now clearly wasn’t a good time.

 

“God, I’ve missed you,” Clout mumbled, separating for only a moment before she started mouthing her way down Flux’s jaw, down her throat. “Missed this. Seeing you on a screen is nice, but…”

 

The tank’s hand dove between Flux’s legs and now the plane squirmed with discomfort, wishing her lover would take it a little slower, as nice as it felt. “Haha, yeah -- ooh! Uh, Clout, sweetie, could you -- oh! Mm, slow down, please?”

 

Clout’s groping fingers slowed to a halt, but she grumbled about it against Flux’s neck plating. She started nipping, hands sliding up Flux’s frame to bring her hands above her head, trapping her wrists in one big hand as the other one teased along transformation seams. The plane wriggled. “Clout, sweetspark-”

 

“Come on,” Clout growled, “I’ve been thinking about that sweet valve of yours all fucking month.”

 

“That’s fine, Clout, it’s just --”

 

“What?”

 

“The door is open,” Flux said, with a tinge of desperation. Clout looked behind them, and her grip slackened as her face drifted away from its hungry snarl.

 

“Oh. Yeah, I’ll close it.” And she did, back on Flux almost before the plane could process it -- bringing her wrists back above her helm, kissing her senseless again, stroking transformation seams and paneling. Within minutes, Flux’s side vents were puffing steam, her face flushed pink with energon. Kissing her was the fastest way to get her revved -- any complaints about Clout’s behavior had slid away to the back burner. They barely made it to the bed before toppling over, Clout writhing her way to the top of the pile and pinning Flux with her weight. Anything else on the bed was swept aside with no consideration of where it would land.

 

An hour later, Clout rolled off of an exhausted Flux, both of them panting hard. Clout crossed her feet at the ankles, kicked an arm back behind her helm, and brought a cygar out of her subspace, lighting it up and placing it between her lips. “Mmm…” she hummed, eyes closing decadently. “Missed that, Flux.”

 

The plane let out a few more heavy breaths, the delicious ache between her legs fading with each throb and the fire leaking out of her lines. “Mhm…”

 

“What’s up?” Clout asked, puffing cygar smoke. “You seem a little distracted.”

 

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just…” Flux sighed through her nose. “Clout, when you told me the Conclave meeting was in three months, did you know that it was in two?”

 

“You’re asking if I lied to you?” Clout said, inhaling more smoke with the cygar clenched in her teeth. “Nah. I misspoke.”

 

“Oh. It’s just… it’s just that I heard you were joking around with a friend that you did that on purpose.”

 

Clout was quiet for a moment. “Where’d you hear that?”

 

“Does it matter?” Flux said, looking over at the tank. The post-interface afterglow was fading fast, the real hard details of life coming back into focus instead of the warm and fuzzies. “Is it true?”

 

“Of course not,” Clout said, blowing smoke. She tried to roll over and kiss at Flux’s throat, but the plane pushed her away with a grimace.

 

“Clout, come on. Be straight with me. I know what you’re doing.”

 

“Making you scream?” Clout said crudely, grinning. “C’mon, don’t deny it, you were just doing it.”

 

“No, you’re trying to distract me,” Flux said, keeping the conversation on track. “It’s not going to work.” The sheets were scratchy on her back plating and on her landing gear wheels down her spine. The sheets she had in her Captain’s quarters were much softer, but the plane forced herself to be grateful for these. There was a time when she’d had less, and there could very well be a time like that again. Luxury, and above all, wealth, was fleeting. 

 

Clout harrumphed and turned back to lay on her back, returning to her cygar. “Huh. Well, I was gonna take you out tonight, but I mean, if you wanna argue, we can do that too.”

 

“Clout, come on,” Flux said, “be mature.”

 

“You know,” the tank said, and there was something funny in her voice, as if she was winning some sort of game, or race, “I think that this isn’t working. You know, we said it wasn’t long term. I think we’ve kinda run our course. The sex is good, but I’m just not sure if we’re headed in the same directions.”

 

Pain speared Flux’s spark. Clout had felt the tide turn and had just gotten in front of Flux’s breakup message by just… breaking up with her beforehand and acting like it was her idea all along. Anger was quick to follow pain. “Well, that’s funny,” Flux said, “because I was just talking with Havoc an hour or two ago about whether or not I should break it off with you.”

 

“Oh, were you?” Clout laughed, and it was cruel. “Cute. Which is why you just _loved_ bottoming for me just now, I’m sure. Enjoy the flowers, I guess.”

 

She got up, leaving the scratchy bed cold, and walked right on out, shutting the door behind herself. Flux watched the door for what seemed like hours, hoping she would come back, fighting herself to stop herself from sending an apology and begging for forgiveness. Tears welled, and she spent the night crying into her hands, and then into her pillow, face hot with shame.

 

Around 3 in the morning, she commed Havoc, miserable.  **:Hey. So Clout and I aren’t a thing anymore. Sorry to bother you.:**

 

Havoc’s reply was a minute later.  **:You’re fine. Congrats, I guess. Good job on getting up the bearings.:**

 

**:That’s the thing, I didn’t.:**

 

**:Huh?:**

 

**:Well, I was going to, but she just… beat me to it. I asked her about if she lied to me about the Conclave, and when I pressed her too much she just… broke it off and walked out.:**

 

**:What a fucking dick move. You okay?:**

 

**:No,:** Flux answered honestly,  **:It hurts a lot and I’ve been crying for hours. If it’s not too much to ask, can you… can you come here? I need a friend right now.:**

 

**:... Yeah. I’ll be right there.:**

  
  


\----------------------------

  
  


Chermiin sighed, twiddling her thumbs. Prison had certainly gotten a lot more prison-y since Fortress Maximus was in charge. Not that Campe wasn’t professional, but Fortress Maximus just had a different style. And she kept telling herself that the blue tank just didn’t know her like Campe did. But it was hard, when Fortress Maximus’ withdrawing of warden’s favor had led to her fellow inmates -- specifically, Decepticons and a select few begrudging Autobots -- turning on her. Two weeks ago, someone put sand in her energon cube. Three days ago, someone shoved her in line.

 

The tank supposed it made sense. There was still a war going on, and tensions were a little high from switching wardens. Most people had settled into the change, but Campe was clearly missed -- even if the prisoners didn’t like her socially. Most didn’t, as a matter of fact -- but they respected her. Now, they had fresh blood to test, and they were throwing everything they had at Fort Max. He handled it well. And in all honesty, he’d given Chermiin some slack back on her leash lately, so she supposed that she couldn’t complain.

 

She sighed, pausing in packing up a supply box. The Autobot next to her glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “What’s up?” 

 

“Nothing.” Chermiin resumed her motions, her hands moving on autopilot again. “Just… thinking.”

 

“Do I need to check your box for a surprise?” The ‘Bot leaned over and peeked over the rim of the crate she was working on. She glared at him, lower lip poking out. 

 

“No!”

 

“What, you’re a Con!”

 

“No, I’m --” Chermiin paused when she realized that she was, in fact, a Decepticon. How could she forget? “I don’t know what I am.”

 

“Lighten up, will you?” the ‘Bot grumbled, and turned back to his own crate. Chermiin finished hers and put it aside to be collected, grabbing an empty one from the center of the table. She started packing supplies in, listening. “We’re all prisoners here.”

 

“Well, duh,” Chermiin said, arranging her nest of supplies. Outside, murmurs crested, as Fort Max stormed by deep in discussion with a couple of guards. “You know, the new warden seems kind of tight wound.”

 

“Guess so. Lotta pressure on him, though.”

  
“Yeah.” Chermiin mumbled, finally turning back to her work. “Yeah, sure. By the by, did you hear that Autobots came up with that new thing, as a response to the Phase Sixers? Something called the Strikeback Project. Apparently, they tried to fuse megaweapons to bots and then tried to fuse those two bots into combiners. Rumor has it they lasted three weeks after decombining.” 

 

Her neighbor shuddered with a gag, and Chermiin nodded, shivering as well as she regaled her acquaintance with the latest outside gossip. She felt her spark settle back down from its disgruntled stirring. Perhaps it was just the stagnation of staying in one place for so long. Maybe she could ask for a prison transfer, just to go somewhere new. But really, where would she go? She had it good here. The guards all knew her by name, she still watched the game with Tracks every now and then, and Fortress Maximus was starting to show more and more trust in her. It was just a bit of restlessness, that was all. Chermiin shook off the crawly feeling and got back to work.

  
  


\------------------------------------

  
  


Gadget bade goodbye to Cephalon for the day, and then commed ReDouble.  **:Hey. I miss you. It’s been ages. Want to watch a nature documentary?:**

 

ReDouble took a few minutes to reply, as Gadget idly walked back to her room. But when he did, Gadget’s spark beat a little faster. She missed her friend dearly. Capacitor had been doing her damndest to isolate them from each other out of sheer spite at this point. While Gadget hadn’t heard of her being cruel to ReDouble, from what she’d seen in the lab, he’d certainly been a little bit more frazzled lately. She hoped he was alright. She read off ReDouble’s comm to herself.  **:Sure! It’s been so long, I miss you too! I hardly ever see you at the lab anymore, has Cap transferred you or something?:**

 

**:Not that I know of. Maybe, but I think I just have twice the places to be and twice the things to do now.:**

 

**:Sounds rough. That’s it, we need to bust out the frogs. I’ll go ahead and rent a room, meet u there.:**

 

Gadget let herself feel the tide of affection. God, it would be nice to see him again. When the two met up, she ran to hug him tightly, bouncing up and down a little on her heels. When she separated, her claws flapped wildly for a couple of seconds, and she scurried around him to throw herself onto the couch. “HEY REE.”

 

“Hey!” ReDouble gushed, catapulting himself to sit beside her. “You should see the latest thing we’re working on in the lab lately! I-” he chattered and chattered and chattered as Gadget set up the documentary, giddy beyond belief. This was how her life was supposed to be -- sitting with a cherished friend and setting up to watch movies with him. Apparently, ReDouble was working on a new bioweapon that he was terribly excited about. Gadget missed her time spent in the lab. Now her days were consumed with mnemosurgery this and study that and poke this and prod that. She hated it. It wasn’t what she was good at doing. It bored her after too long. 

 

They ended up watching three documentaries in a row, and somewhere along the line ReDouble had slumped against her. When Gadget stopped playing the last one, she glanced over at him to see that he’d fallen asleep against her shoulder. She resisted the urge to coo and gently shook him awake. “HEY. REE.”

 

“Mm?” ReDouble murmured, eyes sliding open blearily.  “Mmm…?”

 

“GET UP. IT’S LATE, WE SHOULD GO TO BED.”

 

“Mmkay.” ReDouble yawned and stretched, getting up. “We should… do this again. It’s been… a long time.”

 

“YEAH. YEAH. IT HAS. AND WE SHOULD.” Gadget stood up as well, and the two parted ways to go back to their rooms.

  
  


\------------------------------

  
  


Flux arrived on the bridge for the morning, slurping a mug of energon she’d picked up on her way there in the ship’s little canteen. Saying goodbye to Havoc again had been hard, but the two had had a passionate fling out of the blue. It had just happened in the moment and Flux had gone with it, thoroughly enjoying it. After all, Havoc was really a good person. She could see it. Under all the angry and brusqueness, Havoc had a good spark. Flux really loved her. Not like she’d loved Clout -- something simpler, sweeter. She sighed, bringing the mug away, and sat in the chair. Carapace hummed a greeting her way, mandibles clicking. “Good morning, Major General.”

 

“Morning,” Flux yawned, toasting the mug to cer. “How are you?”

 

“Well, thank you. Major General?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“The inside of your mouth is stained pink.”

 

“Huh?” Flux pulled out a mirror and stuck her tongue out flat. Giggles from the other Generals sounded on the bridge and she resisted the urge to laugh. She couldn’t quite tamp down the urge to smile. “I see. Well, then.”

 

She leaned over and pressed the broadcast button on her captain’s chair. “Good morning, comrades. I would just like to say that whoever put pink dye in my morning ration has a very mature sense of humor. As an addendum, I would also like to say that once I find out who it is, it is _ on. _ You will  _ not _ see it coming.”

 

She leaned back, taking her finger off the button and taking another slurp from the mug as she tried not to chuckle. The fact that her units felt comfortable enough to prank her was delightful. The _ Erstwhile Assemblance’s _ duty was to orbit Decepticon territories on one large shuttle route, making smaller stops and loops along the way to pick up and drop off supplies, as well as lend military aid when needed. Due to the nature of their course and journey, they had more time than most to bond and relax with each other. Flux had held several bonding get-togethers for them in an attempt to bring and keep everyone close. And on top of that, Hazard and Flyraid had actually started to work in tandem. Flyraid had even matured a bit!

 

The only problem was Flux’s nightmares -- they had multiplied and vivified with alarming frequency and vitality lately. She had even woken up screaming two nights in a row this past week, reaching for the gun under her pillow. Her mood wasn’t much better -- she felt tired, drained, perhaps even a bit grumpy on occasion. That wouldn’t do at all. She did her best not to let it bleed into her relationships with her units. The scariest days were when she felt numb -- no guilt, no weariness, no happiness, no anything. By the end of the day on a numb day, she was ready to do just about anything to feel something again. It scared her, but she wasn’t sure who to talk about that with. After all, taking those kinds of problems to her Generals wasn’t the best thing to do. She was their commanding officer -- it wasn’t professional. As close as they all were, Flux was the one who was supposed to take care of them -- not the other way around. Lately, she’d considered making a personal account on the Big Conversation and venting on it, but those things were never really private. Most of the time, she simply pushed it aside, slogged on to the next day -- always to the next day -- and focused on the positives. And there were a lot of positives, all things considering.

 

Yes, Flux thought, as she gulped down another swallow of pink energon, things were actually going well aboard this ship indeed. She forced herself to shake off the bleak cloud, taking a moment to breathe in and out. Perhaps she should invest in an old Lower Crestover favorite -- a stash of Pink Cloud jubilance pills. They made the user feel a little more amicable and were hugely popular in the communal city. Flux had even tried some with Capacitor in the early days. Flux sighed and decided to think on it later, and continue doing what she could do in the moment -- focus on the positives again. Her units were getting along better than ever, she was doing an excellent job keeping them out of harm’s way in missions, and her medics were starting to harmonize in the medibay. She was even making all of her Conclave meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late! I have no excuse except that i was exhausted yesterday. and my twitter is still banned, F. turns out transphobes are a protected group, apparently? *bassboosted thinking emoji* w/ever. have chapter 15, all for you! what do you guys think?


	16. Expurgatory Matters of Importance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flux takes a shattering blow to her very spark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warnings:
> 
> this chapter deals heavily with suicide and suicidal themes throughout. please proceed at your own risk. if at any point you feel you can't continue, but you want to keep up to date with the plot, there will be a summary at the end to tell you what you missed. please be safe! <3 
> 
> (also, there is a gore warning starting with the phrase "Major General Flux has her opinions, just as I have mine," very close to the end of the chapter. Specifically, mouth gore, jsyk!)

Flux took her seat in the Conclave like she always did, sighing as she relaxed into the cushion. She felt  _ old, _ tired, a sickly sort of heavy dread weighing in her lines like sand. It felt like silt filtering through her fuel, trickling down to her pedes and getting caught in her tanks along the way. It was making her sick, sick like it always did. She swallowed it down and stood with everyone else to salute as Megatron made his entrance, murmuring “all hail” with the rest of the officers. She was not enthusiastic about it. It was now 2.7 million years in -- and Flux was weary.

 

“Afternoon, esteemed comrades,” he greeted, measured. A head tilt down returned their salute, and they all relaxed, sitting once more. “Thank you all for joining me. The first matter on the docket is an unfortunate one, I’m afraid.” Flux’s tanks dropped. What it was, she had no idea, but she found herself not wanting to find out. Megatron cleared his throat, and suddenly his red eyes were on her, searing. “Major General Flux, would you please stand?”

 

Flux’s hand drifted to her chest, over her badge as if to ask “me?”, but she did anyways. “Er -- yes, my liege?”

 

“It has come to attention that you have missed more than the allotted unexcused absences a quarter allows,” Megatron started, evenly, and Flux’s eyes widened at this blatant untruth, spark thundering. “As such, it is with great regret that I must remove you from the Conclave. Perhaps the strain of having a ship and being away so much distracted you -- the responsible thing to do would have been to find someone to replace you. Please remove your pin and cape, and bring them forwards to be returned.”

 

“My --” Flux stammered, tanks churning now, silt kicked up and whirling in a terrible, terrible vortex that led to an empty void. Her face felt hot, her limbs chilled like ice, and she found she couldn’t move. This was all happening so fast. It felt like a punch to the t-cog, or her legs being swept out from under her. It felt like a sinkhole had opened up and swallowed her in the wire’s breadth of a second. “My liege -- I haven’t missed more than two meetings this quarter -- excused or otherwise! The allotted absences are five meetings each!”

 

“I think you may be misremembering, Flux,” Megatron said firmly. “The minute-taker counts six.”

 

“That’s preposterous!” Flux yelled, fuel starting to boil. “I bust my bolts to make every meeting I can -- you know as well as I that I take these meetings with the utmost seriousness! Democracy is vital and so are the institutions that uphold it!”

 

She thought she saw Megatron’s lip twitch, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t get the chance to call him on it, as other officers stood up and began to shout -- _ her time had come, why couldn’t she just accept it gracefully? This was  _ **_not_ ** _ conduct becoming an officer! She should be  _ **_civil_ ** _ about these things,  _ **_not_ ** _ make a scene. _ Flux’s hands were shaking now, and she looked into Megatron’s eyes and knew that he wasn’t going to be dissuaded this time -- knew that no amount of rhetoric would help her because this wasn’t a debate.

 

“Major General Flux,” Megatron said calmly over the shouting, “Please step forwards so that I may remove your cape and pin.”

 

“I…” she breathed, devastated, and in a daze, tottered forwards, as the heckling grew more triumphant. Megatron firmly hushed the crowd.

 

“Show respect,” he snapped, “we are losing a valuable member today."

 

As the shouting quieted, Flux came to a stop in front of Megatron, and her eyes felt frozen wide, and she couldn't breathe. She suddenly was hit with the overwhelming need to sob, to cry, and fat tears welled in her optics, threatening to spill as she was stripped of her status as a Conclave member. Humiliation burned in her throat and her cheeks, threatening to cloud over her vision like an ink blot. Her fibula pin was unclipped, winking in the light as if it was saying “I tried to tell you!”

 

In a moment of weakness, she choked back a sob, two tears rolling down the lines in her face and dripping off of her chinpiece. “May I keep it?” she asked shakily, so only the two of them could hear it. “May I keep the pin?”

 

Megatron paused. Protocol deemed that he would tell her no -- after all, the uniform wasn't really hers. However, it seemed that mercy made this small decision, for he lifted one of her hands and pressed the glossy pin into her palm, gently folding her trembling fingers over it and patting them before withdrawing to sweep the cape off of her shoulders and fold it over his arm. Her shoulders felt cold, vulnerable, abandoned. They felt like everyone was staring holes in them, stripping her bare to her protoform for mocking dissection. “You are relieved of duty, Major General. Thank you for your remarkable record of service on the Conclave.”

 

“Where will I go?” she managed, voice high, breathy and shaky. Two more tears rolled down her cheeks, and another two followed. Megatron’s eyes searched her face, and she thought she saw pity there, regret. He laid a hand on her shoulder. She hated herself for needing his direction, but hated herself more for not wanting it.

 

“Perhaps you should return to your quarters,” he said, softly. “I think you need some rest. Please take the day off tomorrow -- I will find someone to take over your shift. I am sorry it had to happen this way.”

 

Flux nodded, swiping the back of her hand over her eyes and sniffling. Turning, she began her walk of shame across the gallery hall, the constellation in the ceiling shining down on her back in freckles of mournful light. The hall was silent as she walked, bots standing in respect as she passed. It was protocol. All was silent until she closed the doors behind herself, and she stood there for a moment, utterly lost. She looked down at the fibula pin in her hand as if asking it for direction, for purpose. None was given, and voices started back up in the room behind her a minute or so afterwards. A part of her was grateful they had at least given her the chance to walk away before resuming without her. Most of her was dazed, despondent and hopeless. Arguing Megatron’s terrible descent was how she lived with herself -- it was how she was able to look in the mirror at the end of the day, how she kept herself hopeful. Now, she had no outlet -- sure, she could take to the Big Conversation, but that was in no way considered official channels. All that would do is put her even more firmly on Tarn’s shit list. It might even put her on the  _ actual _ List.

 

Perhaps she  _ should _ just go back to her room. Then she could process what to do. Then she could -- she could --

 

She couldn't do anything. Perhaps she could just sleep -- fall into blissful oblivion for at least a few hours. Yes, that was what she'd do. She'd just… sleep.

 

Shuffling like the dead, with wide, glassy eyes, she started to lumber away, barely noticing the looks passing pedestrians in the hallways gave her. Most were of concern and worry, some of pity. After she’d rounded two corners, she ran into Havoc, who shouted to get her attention. Flux jumped a little, still deeply shaken. She felt rattled to her core, disrupted and scrambled as if her foundation had crumbled under her feet.

 

“Hey,” Havoc puffed, like she’d been running. “Hey, I just heard. I'm so sorry.”

 

“Heard?” Flux questioned, voice whisper-gentle with dissociation. She spoke slowly, and it felt like she was suspended in gelatin. “I don't… understand, the meeting isn’t even... over yet...”

 

Havoc trailed off from whatever she was going to say, mouth slowly closing as something dawned on her face. “You… don't know.”

 

“Know… what?” Flux inquired, dazedly. She felt far away, as if trying to flee the pain in her spark. Havoc sighed, and forwarded a memo to her. High command was all copied in -- every member except for Flux. It read, from Megatron, **:It is with great regret that I am announcing that Flux of Lower Crestover will be resigning from the Conclave, effective immediately. This matter will be handled at the beginning of today’s meeting.:**

 

“Oh...” Flux said, pain in her spark growing stronger. Several more tears gushed down her cheeks, and her big hands started to shake. “Oh, okay...”

 

Havoc gently grasped at her arm. “Come on, you. Let's go to the medibay.”

 

“I'm not sick,” Flux answered, wishing for nothing more than to be dead. She gently pulled away, or tried to -- Havoc’s grip was firm. “I'm just a little tired. I don't want to take up room that could be used for real patients...” Maybe she could poison herself. There was probably something in the medibay she could use -- hell, there were probably cleaning supplies in her room she could use. Solvent wasn't the best thing to ingest. That might do it, if she drank enough of it. It would hurt -- but she was convinced that nothing could hurt more than her spark was aching. Havoc kept pulling her along. Finally, the plane started to stumble after her.

 

“Yeah,” the jet said, “but I’ve got a great bottle of creamed engex that I’ve been meaning to give to you. You and your sweet tooth will thank me.”

 

“I don't really want to get drunk…”

 

“That's okay, I've got some old corroder I want to tap into,” Havoc answered, “you can just make sure  _ I _ don't get too drunk.”

 

“Oh…” Flux answered, feeling a little better about her walk to the medibay. It wasn't really about her, it was Havoc finding herself a chaperone. That made her feel a little less guilty. “Yeah, sure…”

 

Flux didn't really remember ending up in the chair across from Havoc’s, behind the CMO’s desk, but she did, and Havoc was gently (in that gruff way of hers) trying to get Flux to tell her what happened. Flux burst into heaving sobs, managing to tell the story somewhere in the middle of it, and suddenly the tears tapered away. Something shut down, and her face fell to tiredly neutral as her hiccuping tapered off. She wanted to cry -- she didn't feel better yet, like there was more to let out, but her body had decided that she wasn’t crying anymore and that was final. Havoc patted her arm, and Flux was overwhelmed with love and guilt. She couldn't just leave Havoc without -- without letting her know how important she was, how much Flux loved her. How good of a friend she was. 

 

Flux stared down at the fibula pin in her hands and it stared back up at her, urging her to think of something. An idea dawned on her, and a sense of calm came over her. It turned into a quiet euphoria, and she smiled softly at the pin, nearly crying again from relief. She looked up, and Havoc’s eyebrows raised.

 

“What's up?” she asked, and Flux almost hugged her on the spot.

 

“Nothing, just…” Flux sighed. “Thank you. You're… you're such a kind person, and a good friend, and I love you.” Peace washed over the cargo plane like a drug, swirling into the mixture of other potent cocktails and adding to the turmoil of relief. “Here.” she pressed the fibula pin into a stunned Havoc’s hand and was glad to be rid of it, glad to have given some _ thing _ so dear and precious to some _ one _ so dear and precious.

 

Her units were far away -- on the  _ Erstwhile Assemblance _ , and while she was sad that she couldn't give them their goodbye gifts in person, Flux would make up for it by writing each member their own note, leaving them something. She already knew what she wanted to leave Conure, really. The jet always did like the shade of yellow Flux used to paint around the edges of her turbines. She had a few books for Carapace and Regus, and she could line up things for the other Generals when she got back to her room. Not to mention, Hazard and Flyraid. Flux almost regretted taking her own life before she could get to see them bloom into their fullest medical potential, but she knew they could do it. She’d say as much in her notes to them.

 

Havoc blinked, and Flux stood sighing. It was time, she supposed. Good a time as any. Megatron could replace her -- that would be her gift to him, among other things. Her signed copy of Towards Peace. A list of candidates to replace her. An apology that things went so wrong. As Flux looked back on her life -- all near-three-million years of it, her personal disagreements and differences with Megatron felt petty, small. Perhaps this was the best thing for both of them.

 

Havoc stood as well, seemingly over her shock. “Where ya going?”

 

“I'm just going to go nap,” Flux said, quietly. She smiled, gently, full of affection for the gruff medic. “I'm all tuckered out, I suppose. That'd be the crying, if I had to guess. Thank you for the support. And… for everything else.”

 

“Primus Flux,” Havoc said, “You’re going to go take a nap, so why do you sound like you’re about to die?”

 

Flux’s spark ached. She wished she could tell the medic -- really, she did. But Havoc wouldn’t let her go through with it, and this was something that she needed to do. She had already started her goodbyes, and she had never felt so liberated. “Don't be ridiculous,” she laughed, and it felt full of life and color again. “You'll see me tomorrow, I have the day off. I'm just going to go get some rest.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Havoc said, eyes beginning to take on a glint. “Why don’t you just nap in here? The back room’s empty.”

 

Flux frowned, a little. “No, thank you,” she declined graciously, sparkbeat picking up. She took a step back, one towards the door. “That's very kind of you, but I would just like to be alone right now.”

 

“Nobody’ll bother you,” Havoc shrugged. Flux took another subtle step. “I'll keep ‘em out.”

 

“Oh, no,” Flux assured, smiling placatingly, “I wouldn't want to impose, really-"

 

“You're not.”

 

“Havoc, I'm really alright, I'm just going to take a nap,” Flux said, with growing desperation that she struggled to keep out of her voice. Havoc crossed her arms, eyes narrowing.

 

“Then I s’pose you'll want the pin back in the morning, from me holding on to it?”

 

“Not necessarily,” Flux defended, smile falling away. “I wanted you to have it, I'm not using it any more.” After she’d said that, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. Havoc nodded, kissing her teeth quietly as she looked down and then back at the plane. She should have said she wanted it back. Otherwise it was far too final. 

 

Havoc proved her guess when she said, “Mm-hm. Flux, I'm afraid I can't let you leave. I'm putting you on medical lockdown, effective immediately.”

 

“Havoc!” Flux cried out, turning and storming out of the office. The medibay doors closed as she came into the main room, and Havoc came up behind her, steps purposeful.

 

“If I let you leave,” she began quietly, “Are you or are you  _ not _ going to off yourself?”

 

“Don't be ridiculous,” Flux sputtered, turning back to face Havoc. “I'm not going to kill myself!” The cargo plane insisted, as the doors opened. Neither Havoc nor Flux looked to see who it was. They were too wrapped up in their argument.

 

“I watched you go from catatonic to damn near ecstatic,” Havoc countered. “You gave me a deeply personal gift, said what sounded like an extremely final goodbye and tried to leave to be alone. What am I supposed to think?”

 

“Not that! Anything but that!” Flux retorted, and someone cleared their throat. Flux turned to see Megatron, without cape or pin. He looked concerned.

 

“I came to check on you,” he murmured, and Flux felt a swell of gratitude so strong she nearly cried. “When you didn't answer your door, I received word that Havoc had escorted you to the medibay for a drink and a chat.” He paused. “Are you alright, my friend?”

 

Flux nodded, swiping at her eyes. “Yeah,” she sniffled. “I'm fine, I promise, Havoc's just worried.”

 

“As she should be,” he said seriously, and beckoned her over. She heeded, and he brought her into a hug. “As am I. You took this harder than I thought you would; I apologize. But… it was time.”

 

“It’s alright,” Flux assured, starting to cry a little again. “I just want to sleep for a little while.”

 

“And are you intending to wake back up?” Megatron asked before Havoc could, holding Flux tighter. She took in a shaky vent. “Of course,” she lied through her teeth, and opted to distract with a joke. “How would you even function without me?”

 

Megatron chuckled. “I'm not sure. Get some rest, Major General -- but do it here until our accomplished CMO clears you to leave.”

 

“But-"

 

“Don't make me order you,” Megatron said with no real force. “You take care of everyone. Take care of yourself. Just this once.”

 

Flux relaxed further into the hug, and burst into tears, clutching Megatron for support. Burying her hot face into his shoulder, she hiccuped great heaving sobs, spark awash with so many confusing, painful emotions that she couldn’t identify any of them. Part of her knew that he had ousted her with a blatant untruth, but most of her was just grateful that he had bothered to stop by and check on her -- that he was being so kind, that he cared enough to make her stay in the medibay. He let her cry, rubbing her back occasionally, murmuring kind things to her. Finally, as she sagged, spent and exhausted, Megatron separated, hands on her shoulders almost to keep her upright. “Please, rest,” he urged, red eyes searching hers. “You’ll feel better with some sleep, I imagine. I’ll update your units -- don’t worry about your duties for now. I can have them taken care of. I’ll keep this discreet. You focus on feeling better.”

 

“Thank you,” Flux whispered, voice thick and wobbly, and nodded, closing her eyes to avoid the tears welling again. Her face crumpled in an effort not to cry, and she fended it off for now. She was an officer, crying on her  _ commanding _ officer’s shoulder. This was hardly conduct becoming. “Sorry, I-”

 

She exhaled a great gust, shakily, and put her face in her hands. Megatron patted her shoulder and withdrew. “Don’t be. Just rest. I’m afraid I have to leave, but I’ll be back. Alright?”

 

“Mmhm,” Flux nodded, sniffling. Megatron murmured another couple of goodbyes and took his leave. When Flux turned around to say something at Havoc, she was glowering murderously at the closing door, fuming. 

 

“Hey,” Flux said, sniffling tiredly again. Havoc jerked her attention away, hawkish eyes focused on the cargo plane. “Now what?”

 

“C’mon,” Havoc said, waving her over, murder fading from her eyes. “C’mon over here, sit down. No, no, this berth. Yeah, that one, all the way at the end.”

 

“Havoc,” Flux chided, voice still a little wet with unshed tears, “Really, there’s no need to put me in the furthest one from the door. I’m not going to make a run for it, I promise.”

 

“No, I know that,” Havoc said, and her optics cut to the closed medibay doors for a second. “I know. Just… humor me.”

 

Flux sighed, and sank down onto the berth cushion. “Okay, fine. But I’m only staying tonight.”

 

“You’re staying for as long as I say you’re staying,” Havoc said, fluffing the pillow and pounding it with her palm twice. “C’mon. Hit the pillow, Flux. Doctor’s orders.”

 

“I’m not sleepy,” Flux complained, laying down anyways. Havoc shrugged, pulling a blanket over her. 

 

“Yeah, but you don’t have to sleep to rest,” she countered, idly smoothing a palm over Flux’s forehelm as if she didn’t even register she was doing it. It made Flux’s spark hurt again and she started to cry a little more, feeling ashamed for her emotional outburst. Havoc seemed to wring her hands for a moment, unsure for a blink of a second, and then she walked over to the desk, rifling through stuff to give Flux some space. The plane appreciated it, but she didn’t want space right now. She wanted someone to touch her, to be close to her, but she didn’t know how to even begin asking for it. So instead, she just pulled up the blanket a little tighter and tried to snuggle her face down into it. Havoc was back moments later with a small cube of medical-grade fuel and a couple pieces of candy.

 

“M’not hungry,” Flux mumbled, hiccups fading out. Now she just felt exhausted, even more than before, her eyes heavy and her brain dull. “Thanks though.”

 

“Eat,” Havoc insisted, and Flux grumbled irritatedly. 

 

“I don’t want any,” she said, a little more firmly. Havoc didn’t budge.

 

“Eat it,” she snapped. “Your fuel levels are low.”

 

“I ate breakfast!” Flux snapped, aggravation heating her lines. The medibay air was cool, but the blanket had started to warm, making her far cozier and sleepier than she thought she was. She didn’t want to eat, she wanted to sleep and then she wanted to be out of here, to go through with her plan. 

 

“So help me god, you’re going to eat or I’m going to intubate it,” Havoc threatened, voice taking on a growl. “I can do that. I have medical authority.”

 

Flux was silent, and a little war of wills clashed between them in the tense air. Finally, Flux took the cube and drained it, and sulkily took the candies to eat them later, under the blanket. As the moment trickled away, guilt washed over her. That argument had been stupid. Havoc was just trying to take care of her and Flux was just making herself difficult (just as she always did). “I’m sorry.”

 

“You’re fine,” Havoc said, sitting down in her chair to read over a report or two. “Just relax, get some rest.”

 

Flux ate one of the candies, and fell into a hard sleep as she was unwrapping the other one. She had no dreams, and when she woke groggily the next morning, eyes sandy and tired, she felt like she hadn’t even moved all night. Havoc had apparently placed the half-unwrapped candy on the bedside table, and the plane groaned, shifting a little in bed as a hand came up to scrub her face. Someone moved close by, and Flux turned her head to see Havoc, standing up from where she had apparently been sleeping in her chair.

 

“You slept here?” Flux slurred, still bleary. Havoc shrugged, yawning, and Flux immediately caught it, jaw popping at its widest point. She closed her mouth, sleep threatening to claim her again.

 

“Yeah,” Havoc said, nonchalantly. “Nothin’ better to do.”

 

“Havoc,” Flux chided, and the doors to the medibay opened. Sunbeam walked in, reporting for his morning shift, and stopped upon seeing Flux.

 

“Er --” he paused for a moment, clearly struggling to guess who she was, and put on a slightly nervous smile. Her frame was shrouded in blankets, and she was lying still -- Flux understood why he couldn’t recognize her. “Morning.”

 

“Morning,” Flux greeted, smiling, and Sunbeam seemed to relax. 

 

“Ah, Major General!” he replied, coming over amicably to chat. “Have you been here all night? It’s been a while! How are things?”

 

“Yes, unfortunately, Havoc is insisting I stay for a few days,” Flux said, and Sunbeam’s head recoiled just a tad.

 

“A few days? What’s the matter?”

 

“Nothing too bad, I promise,” Flux said, and reached out to pat his hand, the blanket falling away from her arm. “Just Havoc being a worrywart. And things are going really well, actually. At least, aboard the ship. Hazard and Flyraid are really getting along -- I’m so proud of them.”

 

“Hazard, huh? Hazard of Vos? Wasn’t he the guy who like…”

 

“Got dishonorably discharged from the Autobots? Yeah. Shame, that -- it took a toll on his confidence.”

 

“Personally,” Sunbeam said, “I think that the procedure he came up with on the fly was really impressive. I mean, he just pulled it out of his plating on the spot. And it worked -- I don’t know why they discharged him if it worked.”

 

“From what he’s said to me, he’d done that one too many times,” Flux shrugged. “Personally, I think ingenuity in a medic is a good thing, but what do I know.”

 

“Exactly! I… ugh.” Sunbeam shook his head, bright yellow eyes closed. His soft, glossy lips pursed. “Whatever. Dumb Autobots. Their loss.”

 

“Really. He’s excellent as CMO.”

 

“That’s great!”

 

Havoc beckoned Sunbeam over as his and Flux’s conversation ended, and brought him aside, further into a back room. “She’s not allowed to step foot outside of this medibay,” she hissed, firmly. “I’m going to be staying every second in here. I hate to ask you -- but you know how antsy she can get. I need you to run to her room, and get as many of her datapads as you can. I’m sorry I’m making you fetch and carry, kid.”

 

“It’s okay,” Sunbeam said, visor flickering in concern. “What are you worried about?”

 

“Just a hunch,” Havoc answered, starting to shoo him away. Sunbeam went, and hovered in the doorway, humming as if torn and thoughtful.

 

“You think there’s going to be an assassination attempt,” he guessed, and Havoc sighed in defeat, throwing her hands up and nodding. The kid was smarter than most gave him credit for -- sometimes, including Havoc.

 

“Yeah,” she answered, “Yeah, I do. I’m not leaving this medibay until I release Flux.”

 

Havoc did indeed stay rigidly by Flux’s side as much as possible. If Flux hadn’t been so guilty about making Havoc spend this much time with her, she would have been humbled and grateful that the medic saw fit to hover. The second day passed, as general patients filtered in and out, and Flux read the datapads that Sunbeam had brought her, apologizing that he had had to go all the way to her room and grab them. He had waved it off cheerfully and gone to assist Havoc. He was a doctor now, after all. He had his own appointments to take care of.

 

The old CMO prowled around the medibay as well, sometimes. Every once in a while, he’d catch eyes with Flux and give her the evil eye, and it shouldn’t have made her quail as much as it did. Something in his eyes was different -- but then again, that could just be her, over-exaggerating again. He grumpily took orders from Havoc and Sunbeam, clearly still bitter about his demotion to nurse. (He was not a good nurse. His bedside manner had made no improvements and probably never would.) Funnily enough, he was never allowed to tend to Flux. If she would ask for something, even if he was close by and Havoc was at the far end of the room, busy, she would rush over to take care of it, often nearly pushing herself in between Flux and the old CMO. Anytime he started to check Flux’s vitals or arrangements on his own, Havoc would catch it with a keen eye and send him on a fool’s errand in a blatant move to shoo him away. Finally, his shift was over, and he grouchily left the medibay. Both doctors and one patient on lockdown sighed in relief, feeling the air relax. Save for the three of them, the medibay was empty, Sunbeam’s last patient having been taken care of an hour ago. Soon, Sunbeam’s shift was over too, and he was fussing over Havoc as she walked back to her desk.

 

“Have you even had anything to eat? If you insist on sleeping here,” he badgered, visor gleaming in the light as it protected his eyes. Havoc, in response, opened a desk drawer and pulled out a resealed cube (Flux would have guessed it was probably a week old, knowing Havoc). 

 

“See?” she said, gruffly but not harshly. “I’m alright. Now go on, off with you. Get some rest.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” Sunbeam fretted, but eventually heeded the advice, clocking out and leaving the medibay. Soon, as night wore on, it was just Flux and Havoc, as the medibay lights dimmed to murky nighttime gloom. Flux watched one on the ceiling above her head flicker and dance, light so dim that it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be on or off. For a moment, she felt a kindred spirit with it, and then the moment was gone as she sighed, and closed her eyes. She waited for sleep to take her, but as the hour wore on, one into two, two into three, it didn’t.

 

Finally, she opened her eyes, the yellow lamps illuminating the inky darkness. The lights in the medibay had dimmed further, off entirely, and Flux turned her head to the side. Havoc was dozing propped up against her desk, sitting in her chair. A port on her ankle was open, and Flux’s brows knitted together. It was clearly a mod, possibly added by Havoc herself. A matching panel on the floor was flipped open, a bundle of wires bound together by clingy mesh hooking into the ankle port. The wires snaked down from her ankle, into the floor, presumably… Flux didn’t know  _ what _ feedback they were giving Havoc. She bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth, torn about whether or not to wake Havoc up. She just couldn’t sleep. Throwing the blanket off of herself, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. One hand came up to scrub her face, and she sighed. Perhaps she could just walk around a little. If she was lucky, she could try to sneak out, maybe go back to her room. The immediate desire to end her life had faded -- but it was a background hum, loathe to let her forget it. She could finish resting in her own bed, and decide what to do in the morning.

 

She got up, yawning quietly, and wearily moved a foot to shuffle around, trying to walk off the jitters. One of Havoc’s intense, burning eyes slid open, and Flux froze.

 

“Where’r’ya goin’?” Havoc slurred, still half asleep but very clearly vigilant. Flux knew that her luck was not favorable towards sneaking out. She wouldn’t put it past Havoc to be feeding security information into that port in her ankle. The cargo plane shrugged. 

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said, and Havoc’s single searing eye watched her hawkishly. Flux tiredly rubbed at her face again, and shrugged in defeat. “Got the jitters. I was going to try and walk around.”

 

Havoc nodded, grumbling something, and her other eye slid open as she stirred. “Not much room to walk around in here.”

 

“Havoc,  _ come on,” _ Flux near-whined, throwing her hands up to her waist and then quickly dropping them. Her helm tilted to one side at the same time, as her eyebrows went up and her wings drooped. “I’ve been cooped up in here for almost two days. I’m going stir-crazy.”

 

“Sorry,” Havoc said, decisively. “Better than you being dead.”

 

Flux was quiet on that one, and sighed in defeat, helm dropping as her chinpiece scraped her clavicular windshields. The air conditioning clicked on, rumbling in the background as soothing white noise. Havoc shifted, sitting up in her chair and seeming to soften. “I know how you long-haulers get,” she teased gently, a little less gruffly. “Can’t sit still for more than a minute. Gotta be a busybody every second of every day. Alright, then. Come on, you. I’m coming with.”

 

Flux looked up, eyes widening just a tad. “Really?”

 

“Yeah. S’pose it can’t hurt.” Havoc rose, unhooking the wires and tucking them back into the panel. Closing the panel, she walked over to Flux, and the two wandered towards the medibay doors. Flux appreciated Havoc’s silent presence by her side, even if the walk was short and already looping back towards the medibay after what felt like only a few steps. The plane’s spark ached harshly when she thought of why they were there. How had this even happened? She wiped away sudden tears.

 

“What’s the matter?” Havoc asked, gruffly. Flux shrugged, sniffling.

 

“I don’t know…” she said, “I just feel so stupid. Maybe I am just another dumb guzzler.”

 

“Hey,” Havoc said, “don’t talk like that. This isn’t your fault.”

 

“Maybe it is,” Flux defended, “Maybe I’d missed more meetings than I remembered-”

  
  


“You didn’t,” the medic said firmly as they reached the medibay doors. They opened and Flux groaned -- she was  _ still _ antsy. She sank down on the berth and sighed in frustration. 

 

“I guess. But I’m still not tired,” she mumbled, frowning at her hands where they rested on her lap. “I don’t know what to do.”

 

Havoc shrugged. “Other than reading or something? Not sure. I could  _ give _ you something to help.”

 

“What, pills?”

 

“Intralinear would be faster,” Havoc said. “If you’re alright with that, that is.”

 

Flux sighed, and sat back down on the bed. “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping otherwise. Stick me.”

At that, Havoc came over, readying an IV setup on the little medical tray-table next to the berth. She instructed Flux to lie back, and the plane did. Havoc leaned close, isolating a fuel line in Flux’s arm, and carefully slipped the needle in. Flux barely flinched, and Havoc began threading the medicine through the IV line. It began to take effect, and Flux started to drift, optic shutters drooping. 

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


Havoc watched Flux slip into dozing, and then into sleep, vents evening out. There was something in her spark that Havoc didn’t want to identify -- seeing Flux like this was painful, and deep, deep down,  _ scary. _ Flux was everyone’s rock. She was the anchor to latch onto, she didn’t  _ do _ this. 

 

Megatron was ripping her apart. Havoc was honestly worried that Flux wouldn’t be able to keep going as long as he had her under his thumb. One or two more blows like this past one, and Flux might not make it. Megatron was probably counting on it, as a matter of fact. It would get rid of her quietly. He could claim that she was suffering from depression, and that she had tragically committed suicide. It would martyr her, but in a way that he could use -- channel for his own ends. If he outright had her killed, then he had a massive chunk of the Decepticon army that were far more loyal to Flux than the Cause adrift without a clear leader with him to blame, and that would be disastrous for the Decepticons as they were. But if he faked her suicide, then he could step in as the steady figure to rally them, channeling their distress and outcry into something useful.

 

Havoc slipped another dose in, pursing her lips. Her fingers shook. Flux hadn’t consented to this. But Havoc was certain something bad was imminent, and she didn’t want Flux waking up in the middle of someone trying to assassinate her. Not when Havoc could take care of it without the plane ever knowing. The CMO sighed, patted Flux’s hand, and eased off the drip, confident the dose was enough to keep her down for the night. She sat down in her chair by the bed, and watched Flux lie stone still, deep, deep asleep. She must have stayed like that for an hour.

 

The door opened, and Havoc glanced over hawkishly. Red eyes gleamed in the darkness. It was completely silent, the purr of the newcomer’s engine barely audible.

 

Flux mumbled in her sleep, and shifted, head tossing back and forth as her eyebrows knitted. Her helm fell to rest facing the visitor, body leaning slightly that way as well, and Havoc scowled. “Megatron,” she murmured lowly, “What do you want.” Even in sleep, Flux was so acutely trained to Megatron’s presence there was no way it could be anyone else.

 

Megatron came forwards, giving Flux’s bed a little space. “Just visiting. Unfortunately, work kept me late. I see that she’s already asleep, however.”

 

“She is,” Havoc growled, plating bristling. “I’m staying with her until I clear her.”

 

“Going above and beyond, Doctor,” Megatron said, softly, his voice menacing. “Any reason for your worry?”

 

“Other than the obvious,” Havoc deadpanned. “I’m not stupid. I know you’re going to try and take a crack at her. It’s what I would do. It would all work out in your favor if she died on psychiatric lockdown.”

 

“How dark,” Megaron murmured. “How… macabre. How imaginative. I have a datapad for her -- I shall leave it on her bedside table.”

 

“After that, get out,” Havoc snarled, lowly. “Visiting hours are over.”

 

Megatron didn’t respond, instead, drifting over to Flux’s bedside, across the bed from Havoc. He stared down at Flux’s sleeping face, and the plane hummed in her sleep again, tossing and shifting a bit. “How things change.” 

 

He left the datapad on her nightstand and took his leave before Havoc could stand to chase him out. Flux, in bed, relaxed not long after the doors closed, eyebrows unfurrowing as she fell back into deeper sleep. Havoc was convinced that had she been on any less sleep medication, she would have woken up -- and what she was on to put her to sleep was  _ not _ a light dose. 

 

Havoc was certain. It may not have been tonight. It may not have been the first night. But by each finger on the Guiding Hand, Megatron was going to try and murder Flux. It was coming. Havoc could sense it. It was the perfect opportunity for him -- how could he not take it?

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


It happened the third night into Flux’s lockdown. Havoc had already helped her get to sleep, and had slipped her the extra dose once the cargo plane was asleep. Then, the jet sat down in her usual chair, and flipped open the panel on the floor, hooking the cords into her ankle port. Her HUD lit up with floor pressure monitors, temperature sensors, door alarms and more, off to the side but still visible. The jet started to drift off herself, allowing herself to sleep with one metaphorical eye open. 

 

Havoc was good at sleeping without actually losing consciousness. As such, in the wee hours of the morning -- way past when anyone reasonable would have been asleep -- the doctor registered the doors opening, her security feeds sending her a ping. She feigned sleep, as pressure monitors in the floor tiles registered the person getting closer and closer. They were making a concerted effort to keep quiet, and finally stopped, right on the other side of Flux’s bed. She didn’t stir -- it wasn’t Megatron.

 

Havoc opened her eyes, illuminating the darkness. Kardyo froze from where he was poised to inject something into Flux’s fuel line -- it was in a special syringe, and it glowed a soft, bubbling green color.

 

Havoc surged to action, leaping out of her chair as the cords came unhooked on their own. Kardyo made to jab the needle in before she could get to him, but she was on him before he could, nearly crushing his wrist in her grip. There was a short struggle, quiet so as not to wake the cargo plane on the bed, and then the two were still, frozen in a locked pose. Kardyo’s wrist was still in Havoc’s grip, and she carefully moved a finger to press onto the plunger. “Gideon’s Glue?” she murmured, rage burning in her spark.

 

“It wasn’t my idea,” Kardyo hissed. He might have been an attempted murderer, but he was also a coward -- a little pressure and he was singing like a cybercanary. “I swear!”

 

“I know,” Havoc snarled quietly. “I could kill you, Kardyo.”

 

The nurse’s eyes blew wide, and Havoc pressed down on the plunger just enough to squeeze a droplet of the corrosive substance out of the syringe. It fell down, down, through the night air and down to sizzle on Kardyo’s toe, barely missing the ground. The nurse muffled his cry of pain, but a little sound slipped out, accompanied by the continued hissing. “Please don’t,” he begged, voice strained but soft. “I swear it wasn’t my idea.”

 

“I don’t care,” Havoc growled, confiscating the syringe, “the only reason I haven’t killed you yet is because Flux wouldn’t want me to. Now get out of here. If I catch you back in here again, I’ll kill you.”

 

The second she let go of his wrist, he was running back to safety, even looking over his shoulder to see if she was following. After the doors shut, leaving the medibay quiet again. Havoc went back to her chair, and leaned over Flux to tend to her, tucking up the blanket even though it didn’t need to be fixed. Her worry for the plane was far deeper than a doctor for a patient. Not that she’d ever admit it out loud, but she really did like Flux. She was… a good friend.

 

Havoc sat back down and sighed heavily, after putting the syringe into a hazard container. She allowed herself to fall back into a half-sleep, and didn’t wake back up again until dawn. Megatron came in -- Flux grew restless again, and Havoc rose and walked to meet him before he got too close.

 

“You,” she growled, “are despicable.”

 

Megatron raised an eye ridge. “Oh?”

 

“You tried to murder her with Gideon’s Glue?” Havoc snarled. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

 

Megatron looked over her shoulder at Flux, and then back at Havoc. “When you’ve made up your mind to murder a friend, does the methodology really matter?”

 

“It’s fucking  _ Gideon’s Glue!” _ Havoc near-hissed, spark boiling. “She would have died in  _ agony!  _ Her fuel lines would have dissolved probably before it even reached a major organ! It could have taken her  _ hours _ to die! You’re a fucking monster.” She was surprised to find herself so heated about the morality of it. Usually, the only ethics she cared about were doctor’s ethics.

 

“The only thing I regret is sending Kardyo to do the job,” Megatron murmured softly. “Until next time, Havoc.”

 

“Get the fuck out of my medibay,” Havoc snarled. Megatron inclined his head to her in a very petty showing of false respect and turned, steps measured. Havoc watched the doors even after he was gone. 

 

When she was certain all was quiet, she let out a great gust of a sigh and went to collapse back into her chair, exhausted. So Megatron wasn’t trying to make it look like a suicide. The only person Havoc knew who would kill themselves with Gideon's Glue was Whirl. So how could the warlord benefit from outright having Flux murdered? And so viciously?

 

It dawned upon Havoc in a fit of enlightenment. Megatron had been planning to frame her. That might just work for him -- Havoc knew her reputation. Dangerous, unhinged, unstable, violent. If Megatron pushed it far enough, he could insinuate Havoc still had Autobot contacts and let the public fill in the rest. It would effectively cement him as a calm, steady presence for Flux’s units -- who would no doubt be distraught and in disarray, along with a great portion of his forces  _ not _ under her command. Now, with his plan disrupted, what was he going to try next?

 

Flux woke up late morning, her eyes drifting open but her consciousness taking a little longer to return. Havoc immediately rushed to check on her, brushing a wayward hand against her forehead to check temperature and looked to the monitor to check her vitals. She was fine -- of course she was fine. Havoc forced herself to sit down and have a little breakfast from the cube in her desk as she waited for Flux to gain lucidity. Of course the plane was fine. Havoc had stopped Kardyo from carrying out murder. The anxiety made her fingers shake and she hated it. She wasn’t  _ weak _ like this. Flux made her weak like this. Briefly, Havoc considered ghosting her, and then immediately shook it off. That was stupid.

 

Flux let out a soft “mm,” and her eyes opened further. A massive hand came up to rub at them and she started to look around. Her eyes lit on Havoc and her face softened further, a dopey smile coming to rest on her lips. “Havoc… hi…”

 

“Hey there,” Havoc said, trying to keep her voice normal. “Let me get you something to eat, if you feel up to it. You slept pretty hard.”

 

“Nah, I’m okay right now,” Flux said, voice feathery. “I think those sleep meds made my tanks funky. I might want something a little later though.”

 

“Alright.” Havoc let out a huff, sagging back against her chair. Flux knitted her eyebrows down.

 

“Hey, you alright?”

 

“Yeah.” Havoc sighed again. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

 

“Oh… I’m sorry.” 

 

Havoc waved it off. “Don’t be.” They spent the day talking, until Havoc got a ping on her comms suite -- from Megatron.

 

**:Security has been briefed on the issue of Major General Flux’s assassination and the suspect has been detained. You are to be interviewed as a witness.:** Havoc barely had the time to read the comm before the medibay doors were sliding open. Tarn stood in the doorway, menacing and imposing. Megatron had waited until the last possible second to brief her just to throw her off.

 

Flux sat up in bed a little, startled, and Havoc stood, pressing her back down. “He's here for me.”

 

“But -- you haven't done anything wrong,” Flux protested, almost panicky. Tarn chuckled, walking to meet Havoc. She made sure they met a respectable distance from Flux's bed.

 

“Now, now,” Tarn chided, “The Decepticon Justice Division's job isn't  _ just _ execution. We received a report that, unfortunately, someone tried to assassinate you last night.”

 

“What? Wait, what?” Flux said, shocked as she looked to Havoc for guidance. “Havoc, what's he talking about?”

 

“... It's true,” Havoc said after a moment, never taking her eyes off Tarn. He stared down at her, the burning red of his eyes relentless.

 

“An anonymous report says that you spent the night with Major General Flux,” Tarn said, “it also says that a would-be assassin was intercepted before he got to the medibay with a syringe of Gideon's Glue.”

 

_ “Gideon's Glue?” _ Flux interrupted, eyes wide. “The stuff that rained on  _ Babu Yar?” _

 

“Quite,” Tarn responded. “Has anyone sent you death threats lately, Major General?”

 

“Uh, uh, you know, one or two, the usual,” Flux responded shakily, looking down at her trembling hands. “Not anything out of the ordinary, I've been in here for --”

 

“Four days or so,” Havoc supplied when she faltered, and Flux nodded. 

 

“Yeah,” she finished. “How did you get here so fast, Tarn? We're not close to Messatine.”

 

“When Megatron learned of this atrocity, he called me immediately,” Tarn said gravely, and Havoc rolled her eyes. “He demanded that this case take utmost priority and that I and my crew space bridge here personally. Is there anything you remember out of the ordinary from the past week?”

 

“Actually,” Flux said, voice softening, “There is something.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah, uh, Megatron removed me from the Conclave.”

 

“I heard,” Tarn said, “my condolences. Perhaps you simply had too much on your plate.”

 

“But that's the thing,” Flux said, sitting up further. Now her voice picked up again, in her Thinking Voice. “The minute taker says I missed six meetings this quarter.”

 

“And?”

 

“Well, that's obviously ridiculous,” Flux said, gesturing with one hand as one eyebrow went up, “I only missed two, and one of those was a prior excused absence where I submitted my votes on the docket electronically. The other time, I woke up sick the day of but made sure to alert Megatron of that.”

 

“I see. And, how does that factor in?”

 

“Maybe the minute taker has a grudge?” Flux suggested, unsure. “It's the best I’ve got since I only found out about this like, thirty seconds ago.”

 

“Indeed,” Tarn said with a little chuckle. “Perhaps it's fortunate that you slept through it. I will look into the minute taker myself, but we do already have the direct aggressor in custody. However, it would be remiss of me to not investigate the possibility of accomplices.” Tarn bowed deeply to her, and Havoc snorted. “Second to Megatron, you will be the  _ very _ first person to know my findings. If you'll excuse me. Here's to a swift recovery, Major General.”

 

“Thank you,” Flux said, but it was a mite suspicious. Tarn thanked both Havoc and Flux for their time, and Havoc went to fetch a cube for Flux. 

 

“Aw, rats,” Flux said suddenly, but it was shaky. “I uh, forgot to ask him who was detained.”

 

“Was Kardyo,” Havoc answered, coming over to hand Flux the cube. “Can you believe?”

 

“Ch’yeah,” Flux scoffed, eyes cutting over to Havoc as her huge eyebrows soared to dizzying heights and she put a heavy ‘ch’ on the affirmation to designate her scorn. “C'mon, he's had it out for me since day one. But  _ murder?  _ I dunno, something doesn't feel right. He’s not the kind.”

 

“Maybe someone was pulling the strings,” Havoc said, smiling tightly. She wanted to tell Flux the truth, but how? Megatron had already put his story out there -- had gotten ahead of this. If Havoc tried to tell her what really happened, it would seem as if she were fishing for attention, and there was always the chance that Flux wouldn’t believe her. It was small, but it was there. Flux just shrugged, still rattled.

 

“I guess. When were you gonna tell me?”

 

“I didn't know what to say,” Havoc admitted, feeling funny. “I was honestly hoping it'd go away before I had to tell you. I mean, how do you…?”

 

Flux inclined her head in agreement, her head bobbing along in a nod. “Yeah, for sure. It's alright, I… thank you, for staying with me.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“So, not that I'm trying to run out on you,” Flux said, smirking, “but when are you gonna clear me?”

 

“Oh, I see,” Havoc joked, pushing at Flux's shoulder and relishing in her laugh. “Nah, I'm kidding. Uh, do you feel better?”

 

“Yeah,” Flux said, and really did mean it. “Yeah, I think so.”

 

“Because you know I was worried about you.”

 

“Obviously,” Flux joked, gesturing around. “Yeah, Havoc, I do feel better.”

 

“Good.” Havoc said, and brought out the fibula pin. The smile dropped from Flux's face like a hunk of lead. “Then take this back.”

 

Flux reached out in what Havoc thought was a gesture to take it. Instead, the plane's big hands folded Havoc's fingers back over it, holding her smaller hand in them. Flux squeezed, gently. The smile was back, but it was sad and wistful.

 

“I'd rather you hold onto it for me,” she said, and kept talking when Havoc opened her mouth. “I think it would only hurt me to keep it now, Havoc. Just… keep it safe for me, okay?”

 

Havoc swallowed, hard, and nodded, silent for once. After a few moments, she finally spoke. “You're uh, cleared.”

 

Flux’s smile turned markedly more fond. “Thank you. I'm sorry it came to this. Do I need to uh, sign out or anything?”

 

“Yeah, I'll get the paperwork,” Havoc said, not bothering to get out of her chair as she wheeled the short distance to her desk. “I have to sign under your signature. By the way, this isn't your fault.”

 

“Eh,” Flux quibbled, in that non-committal but still disagreeing tone. Havoc spun back around and rolled her way over.

 

“I mean it. You want someone to blame, blame Megatron. You know I'm right.”

 

“I don't want you to be,” Flux murmured softly, looking at her hands. Havoc occupied them by shoving the datapad and a stylus in them.

 

“Yeah, I know. But I am. Sign on the first line at the bottom.”

 

Flux whipped a signature on and passed ‘pad and stylus back to the medic. “Thank you for your kindness, Havoc.”

 

“Kindness? Eat my exhaust.”

 

“You know, I think your bedside manner's getting better,” Flux joked, face devilish. “In a couple million years, you might even graduate out of browbeating territory.”

 

“Shut up and get out,” Havoc shouted after her, but she couldn't hide the laughter in her voice. She wasn't expecting to have such a close friend. But Flux had a way of nestling herself in all cozy in someone's spark when one least expected it. Havoc hadn't felt anything approaching this level of closeness since… Roundabout.

 

Suddenly angry again, Havoc rolled back to her desk, throwing the datapad onto her desk surface and starting more paperwork to distract herself. She didn't want to think about that. It was too late. The memory was already coming back. Ultra Magnus had just grabbed her by the arm and yanked her in front of him to take a shot -- and on Havoc’s spark, Ultra Magnus was going to die by her hand no matter the cost.

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


Flux walked out of the medibay, still nursing the flicker of deep affection that Havoc instilled in her. Her first order of business should be to let Megatron know she was okay -- he was probably worried sick. Having been stressed lately or not, he was still her friend. She sent him a comm.  **:Havoc discharged me from the medibay with her stamp of approval. Where are you?:**

 

His reply was nearly instantaneous; Flux's spark warmed at the concern he was showing.  **:Excellent. Come see me, room 226. I'm meeting with security and investigation about your case. It was a close call.:**

 

**:Of course! And yeah, it was.:** Flux smiled to herself and got going, a little pep in her step.  **:I'm on my way right now.:**

 

She fast-walked through halls and to the elevator to down a level to reach room 226. The door opened for her, revealing a long table. On one side, the main security team sat, including Soundwave. Lazerbeak squawked at her, wings flapping as if to beat the air before the bird finally settled down. Ravage slipped out from under the table to rub up against her leg. Flux greeted him with a smile, and looked back up. On the other side of the table, the DJD sat. Five heads turned to her, Kaon's empty sockets boring holes in her. Vos muttered something in Primal Vernacular, his shiny silver plating gleaming in the overhead light. Tarn stood first, and the rest of the DJD followed suit immediately, saluting her. Soundwave stood next, doing the same, and then came the security team. Megatron stood last, from his position at the head of the table, and Flux saluted back, posture rigid and perfect. The salute never failed to warm her spark, inciting feelings of pride and belonging. It was as if she was a younger mech, fighting not to exterminate but to protect -- what she was meant to do.

 

Megatron came around the table, walking over to her. Flux's eyes widened as he extended his arms to hug her, crushing her to his chest. She let out a small “oh!” and freed her saluting arm to hug him back, face melting into a gentle smile. “It's good to see you too,” she murmured.

 

“Don't scare me like that again,” Megatron muttered to her, shaking her once for emphasis. One of his hands came to rest at the back of her helm. “You are the weld that holds this army together. We would be bereft without you.”

 

“Of course,” Flux said, softly, and blinked back tears. “Thank you.”

 

Megatron separated, hands still planted firmly on her as he looked her up and down. It was as if he was checking for any sign she was still unwell. After a moment, he nodded, and one of his hands came to sweep wide as he turned to the room. “Good. Now, come, sit. We're about to bring in Kardyo for interrogation. Do you feel comfortable being in the same room with him?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Flux said, hesitantly. “I can take it.”

 

“Excellent. Rest assured, he won't get away with such a blatant move.”

 

Flux nodded, shuffling over to sit at Soundwave's side of the table. Megatron went back to his chair, and everyone else went to at ease, sitting down themselves. Soundwave commed someone. Seconds later, Kardyo was shuffled in in full body restraints from the other room.

 

“Kardyo of Rodion,” Megatron began, leaning to one side in his chair as he languidly read off of a datapad. “You have been charged with attempted murder of a Major General in the Decepticon Army. Have you anything to say for yourself?”

 

“I want a lawyer,” Kardyo blurted, eyes wide and flighty. Tarn outright chuckled.

 

“My dear Kardyo,” he said, “with what you're charged with, we can withhold counsel. The Command Act applies here. Now, answer Lord Megatron's question.”

 

Kardyo glanced around the room, and Flux narrowed her eyes, thoughtfully. He seemed to be weighing his options, and Havoc's statement from earlier came back to her.  _ Maybe someone is pulling the strings. _

 

“It was your idea,” Kardyo threw wildly at Megatron, ripping several gasps from the spectators. Flux was among them, whipping around to stare at Megatron.

 

“What? What's he talking about? Megs?”

 

“It's Lord Megatron,” Tarn muttered under his breath, boiling. Flux turned to him.

 

“I've known him longer than you have, I -- Megatron, what's he saying?”

 

“A great deal of nonsense,” Megatron said, calmly, and his demeanor reassured the plane. Tarn spoke up. 

 

“Have faith, Major General,” he chastised, and the DJD nodded with varying degrees of intensity. “Megatron-”

 

“Understands why Flux would be shocked at such an accusation,” Megatron cut him off warningly, and Tarn was cowed. “Now, Kardyo, what makes you say that?”

 

“You secured me the Gideon's Glue,” the doctor said, rushing to say as much as he could. “When I protested the method, you insisted upon it.”

 

_ “Kardyo,” _ Megatron chided, “Major General Flux has stood by me through it all. She is unshakeably loyal and immensely popular with the lower ranks. Why would I assassinate her, or have her assassinated?”

 

“Because if you can spin it right, you can transfer all that charisma to yourself in the public eye,” Kardyo argued. “And she publicly disagrees with you about major policy issues.”

 

“Major General Flux has her own opinions just as I have mine,” Megatron said, his voice growing more restrained in anger. He put the datapad down and idly swept a hand. “I agree with the guilty verdict. Tarn, do with him what you will.”

 

Tarn stood up, and Kardyo whimpered, shaking. “Come on, Tarn, you know me,” he beguiled, trying to press himself close. Megatron watched with a keen eye, and Flux almost felt like he was looking for something. Tarn hummed, cupping Kardyo's jaw and pressing a thumb claw into his mouth. 

 

“Indeed I do,” he said mildly, and Kardyo sagged in relief. Tarn leaned closer. “Which is why I am going to personally rip that lying tongue from your head.”

 

Kardyo squeaked, and it turned into a scream as Tarn did exactly that. Flux yelled in horrified shock, looking away and covering her eyes. As the screaming stopped, she risked a peek through her fingers and almost purged. Kardyo was weeping, blood streaming from his mouth as Tarn held his tongue in one bloody hand. Megatron cleared his throat. “Tarn.”

 

The tank looked over and Megatron jerked his head to Flux. “The Major General needs to keep on the road to recovery, let's not traumatize her.”

 

“Of course,” Tarn said, bowing. “My apologies. We'll take the traitor aboard the Peaceful Tyranny to deal with him, with your blessing, Lord Megatron.”

 

“Of course. Have you found any evidence of accomplices?”

 

“Not yet. Shall we stay for a few days to check?”

 

“I doubt it's necessary. Look into who supplied him the Gideon's Glue. It may be someone already on the List.”

 

“Yes, Lord Megatron.”

 

“Perhaps a military tribunal would be more fitting?” Flux squeaked, unable to contain herself. Megatron waved it off.

 

“Nonsense,” Megatron said. “We have his signed confession -- a trial would only waste everyone's valuable time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the summary for those of you who decided to skip!
> 
> -flux is removed from the Conclave on false charges of absences
> 
> -flux meets havoc in the hallway after she is removed, and havoc informs her that megatron sent out a comm to every other member of high command that he planned to oust Flux anyways
> 
> -flux becomes deeply depressed at this betrayal, and havoc tries to distract her with a drink and a chat in the clinic, and specifically her office
> 
> -havoc comes to the conclusion that flux is at risk, and puts her on medical lockdown to protect her
> 
> -havoc comes to realize that flux might be at risk of assassination, and decides that she has to protect flux from that as well
> 
> -during the night, when flux is asleep, kardyo shows up with a syringe of gideon's glue to murder flux with, and havoc stops him, chasing him away and confiscating the syringe
> 
> -she realizes that megatron was intending to frame her, a violent ex-wrecker with "autobot ties"
> 
> -she finds out that it was megatron's idea to kill flux as well as frame havoc
> 
> -megatron gets out in front of the situation by making kardyo the patsy, and bringing flux in to a meeting for kardyo's sentencing
> 
> -tarn takes kardyo aboard the peaceful tyranny after it's decided he's guilty
> 
>  
> 
> \----------------------
> 
>  
> 
> and that's about it! what do you guys think is going to happen?


	17. Exodia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tourniquet runs into a bit of trouble just trying to do his job, Haven and Thinstreak have the biggest fight yet, and Gadget finally tells ReDouble about her problems with Capacitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers:**
> 
> **none that I can think of, but if you need something tagged, please let me know!!!**

Tourniquet sighed, hauling the fiftieth box of high-grade weapons in an hour. A shuttle had just unloaded them. As an ex-Con, he was allowed to handle the weapons on this base, but god forbid he be some sort of doctor or nurse in spite of his fully valid, credible medical license. Sometimes, the logic of his fellow Autobots confounded him. He was off in a side facility, shunted away to the outskirts of the base, and he was working late. 

 

He let the box slam down on the pile, allowing himself to be dragged with it as he puffed, hands still clamped on the sides of his cargo. This war had gone on for 2.8 million years and Tourniquet had to wonder if it would ever be over. His supervisor yelled for him to get back to work, and so he moved on to the next crate, hauling again and again. The side facility he was in was a sort of supplies warehouse -- with a weapons wing, a rations wing, all sorts of things. Anything the base might need.

 

So Tourniquet probably shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when Decepticons raided the base. Or -- at the very least, his warehouse. It was a good time to do so, he had to admit -- it was the graveyard shift with a skeleton crew, when most everyone else was asleep. Mechanobio-rhythms were at their lowest point for those who were sleeping. Tourniquet was definitely not sleeping -- and definitely not dreaming, he realized, as three heavy-duties burst through the door, holding his supervisor at gunpoint. The one with giant, oddly serrated horns and mandibles was at the forefront. “Get down on the ground,” they said, their voice oddly monotone. The supervisor didn’t comply, getting out his own gun, and the front Con shot him. He flew back and lay still.

 

Tourniquet felt frozen in place, which he supposed worked in his favor -- their guns were trained on him next, and he vaguely registered them shouting at him to move away from the box. He glanced at the box he had just set down, put up his hands, and did as asked -- a hefty bot with opalescent white paint came over to grab him by the arm and dragged him back to the trio. “Call the Major General,” they said, voice seeming naturally breathy. “She’s got the know-how to identify the stuff in here.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Mandibles said, comming their superior anyways.

 

“She was cargo before the war,” Shiny replied, and Mandibles didn’t so much as lift their eyebrow in practice as in spirit. Still, they spoke into the comm.

 

“Major General, you’re needed with strike team one as soon as you are able, I repeat, you’re needed with strike team one as soon as you are able. Over.” They hesitated for a moment longer, and then dropped their hand. “She’s on her way.”

 

“I-if you need, I can tell you what’s in here,” Tourniquet offered, and the third bot in the trio spoke up. They had a sort of brownish-olive green paintjob.

 

“Why don’t you tell our commanding officer when she gets here, then,” they said firmly, and that was that. Minutes later, heavy footsteps echoed with purpose down the hallway, and a massive cargo plane rounded the corner, tall audials gleaming in the low light. Dimly, Tourniquet realized that the building’s alarm hadn’t gone off -- they must have jammed frequencies or disabled it. This newcomer was huge, with a strong nose and chinpiece and the fat eyebrows to match. Her burning yellow eyes lit on him, and she spoke in low tones to her subordinates. She had a choppy, harsh accent, rife with sounds from the back of her throat. Each syllable hit like an open-palm slap to the audial.

 

Tourniquet swallowed as the biggest bot’s attention turned to him. She stared at him for a moment, frame exuding a sort of casual power. “What’s your name?” she said, voice thick with accent. He opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out -- he was at a loss for words. The one with a hand on his arm shook it a little, and their superior laid a hand on their shoulder to still them. “Alright, I’ll start. I am Major General Flux of Lower Crestover. My General Carapace says that you have offered to help us.”

 

“I, um,” Tourniquet said, “Tourniquet. And… I said I could identify the things in this room.”

 

Flux gestured for him to go on, and he rattled off an inventory list, barely fumbling through it. She nodded to encourage, and steadily, the one holding his arm let go until he was standing in the center of the group of four, gesturing around the room to which things might lay where. The Major General nodded, again, more thoughtful this time, and then put a hand on Shiny’s shoulder. “General Oracle, call some of your subordinates and help them extract a few things of each from this room. Trash what we can’t take with us, but be careful.”

 

“Yes Sir,” Oracle said, and made the call. Flux gestured for the other two generals to follow her, and looked over her shoulder.

 

“Tourniquet, come with me,” she said, and the medic did, walking quickly to catch up. Flux walked with purpose, massive feet shaking the ground where she walked. “You’re going to assist me and my vanguard Generals in loading rations onto the ship,” she said, without room for debate. Carapace cleared their throat. 

 

“Perhaps you should put him with the others?” they said, and Flux waved it off. 

 

“He knows the facility,” she dismissed, but her subglyphs (what Tourniquet could distinguish under that accent) seemed grateful for the input. “I want this to be a smash-and-grab, in and out to minimize damage.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Carapace said. Flux tapped them on the shoulder and pointed to their left, and then tapped the other general to her right and pointed to their right. Carapace split off at the next intersection with a left hallway and the other general did the same on the right. Flux turned to Tourniquet.

 

“Rations are ahead,” she said, “I know that. What else can you tell me about this place?”

 

“Guards watch the rations place to make sure the grunt workers don’t sneak extra meals,” Tourniquet offered, and saw her lip curl. “They’re on the inside of the room, though. You’d need to take them out.”

 

“How many?” Flux said, starting to walk again. Tourniquet jogged to catch up, nervous.

 

“A few,” he said, “three or four? Though it’s the graveyard shift, so there’s probably just two. There’s one who sleeps all of the time.”

 

They walked quickly down the hall, joined at one point by a brightly-colored jet with bouncy legs. “Who’s this one,” they said, jerking their head back to Tourniquet. Their head feathers rattled. 

 

“A helper,” Flux said, “where are the others?” 

 

“On their way,” Brights reported, “got held up by some traffic. They’re fine, though. Just some obstacles.”

 

“Good,” Flux said, and Tourniquet had to wonder how many of those obstacles might be people he liked. Any semblance of security he’d managed to fall into retreated, as two more people joined them on their way to the rations hall. They didn’t bother asking who Tourniquet was. Soon, they got to the massive bay doors, and Flux stopped the group, turning to Tourniquet. “Can you get us in?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Tourniquet mumbled, shuffling to the front to punch in his code. This was going to get him into so much trouble once this was all over -- if these Cons didn’t kill him. Flux gestured for the three smaller jets to wait as the bay doors started to slide open. The two guards at the door shouted in alarm, and Flux punched one low in the gut. While he was nearly two-thirds her size, he still curled around her fist a little and went flying. She decked the other one across the face and he collapsed like a rusty sheet of aluminum. Pulling back, she dusted off her hands, and peered around for any sign that anyone else was there. When nobody was, she ushered everyone in, waving them along before coming herself and shutting the door behind her. The hand on Tourniquet’s back to gently push him into the room was soft, a stunning contradiction from the violence seconds earlier. He stumbled in, a little dazed, and Flux stuck two pinkies in the corner of her mouth to whistle sharply. All eyes turned to her.

 

“Vanguard Unit  _ one, _ I want you handling  _ fuel _ and  _ coolant,”  _ she shouted, lifting her hand to circle it over an imaginary category. “Unit  _ two, _ I want you to take care of  _ paints _ ,  _ waxes _ and  _ nanite supplements _ . Unit  _ three, _ I want you getting  _ medical supplies. _ We take  _ everything, _ people! Leave the cupboard bare, we need these supplies! Use your subordinates to help you haul things, do you understand!”

 

“Yes Sir!” the three shouted back at her, and scurried off to start packaging things for transport. Flux surveyed, arms crossed as she watched the door for them, and Tourniquet shuffled, a little unsure of what to do.

 

“You know,” he said, cursing himself for saying this, “This isn’t our only supplies bank. If you wanted to starve us out, we have more.”

 

“I’m not trying to starve anyone,” Flux said, “I know full well how an empty tank feels and I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. We simply need the supplies and your base was in our path.”

 

“Uh huh,” Tourniquet said, watching as the various Generals unlocked the windows to allow their underlings to climb through and help. Flux did as well, careful eye surveying every movement. Two petty officers almost dropped a crate of cubes and Flux whistled again. 

 

“Careful!” she called, “try grabbing under the box, alright?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” they called back, doing as suggested. Shuffling their feet, they hauled the box to the window, where it followed a steady stream of assembly-line hands to be lifted up and out to the people outside. It disappeared over the lip of the window and didn’t resurface. Flux crossed her arms, and sighed heavily.

 

“Some of them are so young,” she murmured, almost as if Tourniquet wasn’t supposed to hear it. Then, she spoke up. “How did you get saddled with the graveyard shift, hm, Tourniquet?”

 

“Oh, they hate me,” Tourniquet said, fiddling with his fingers, “I’m an -- I’m new. They don’t trust me. Ever since the thing on Babu Yar, ya know, Autobots are… shifty.”

 

“I think I understand,” Flux replied. While it had gotten easier with exposure, her accent was hard to understand -- the harshness of it distracting and confusing. “I’m sorry that you haven’t found a place with them.”

 

“Why are you sorry for me?”

 

Flux shrugged, sincere. After another call of “Woah, careful!” to a giggling group of cocky MTOs, she returned to their conversation. “I suppose I’m a leaking spark,” she said, with no real tone of remorse. “I’m a Decepticon to help those who need it -- no more, no less. I can’t see someone suffering and just ignore it.”

 

“Isn’t that a bit unusual nowadays?” Tourniquet said before he could stop himself. Flux snorted.

 

“Maybe in other places,” she said, “but not on  _ my _ ship. We don’t do that.”

 

“Uh huh,” Tourniquet said, looking at the floor. This all felt so surreal, why was he being so calm? Logic dictated he should be terrified, and yet, for all of the power Flux oozed, underneath it there was also a calm -- a sort of soothing air to her field. It reassured him. A couple more minutes of silence passed between them, and Tourniquet flinched as his tanks growled. He hoped that the imposing Decepticon beside him wasn’t going to notice that --

 

Flux nudged him with her elbow, and passed him a small cube when he looked over. “Here. Take it.”

 

Despite a part of him insisting it could have been poisoned, he took it, looking up at her. His spark warmed for the first time during this whole debacle, and he hesitantly smiled. “Thank you.”

 

Flux dipped her head to him in reply, eyes closing as she did so. They opened again as her attention turned back to her troops. They had dismantled and packed away nearly a third of this room’s contents already, scurrying around like cyber-ants. “Of course. Like I said -- hungry bellies are something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, and you are certainly not my worst enemy. Besides -- if we’re just standing around keg sipping, I don’t see any reason to withhold.”

 

Tourniquet frowned at the odd turn of phrase. He supposed she meant chatting, but he hadn’t come into contact with enough people who used that term to be familiar with it. Regardless, he sipped the cube. It wasn’t the best energon he’d ever had, but it was certainly better than his usual fare. He hummed in surprised pleasure and went in for another sip. It was sweet. Flux smiled a little, and ducked her head. 

 

“I have a little bit of a sweet sensor,” she said, almost as if confessing. “All of my snacks on my person are sweets, if you were hoping for something else.”

 

“This is great,” Tourniquet enthused, taking another slurp. “Thank you!”

 

Her smile grew a little, and she surveyed how her troops were doing. Apparently satisfied, she turned back to her conversation with Tourniquet. “Yeah, sure,” she said, and her voice seemed to soften -- her syllables were still harsh and percussive, but her tone was gentle, even tender. She seemed more authentic, and Tourniquet had a sneaking suspicion that this was the real her.

 

“Can you help me with this, Major General?” one of the petty officers called out, struggling with a box of fuel. Flux moved immediately.

 

“Sure,” she replied, coming over to help lift it. “Are you feeling alright?”

 

“Yeah,” the officer replied, “just, you know. Achy.”

 

“Go to Hazard after this, please,” Flux replied, helping them haul the crate to be picked up at the window. “Take it easy, why don’t you. Go supervise the sorting into the supply rooms.”

 

“But-”

 

“No buts,” Flux insisted, “I have no doubt that you can haul these boxes, but I need all of my troops at their best. I don’t want you exacerbating something.”

 

Tourniquet watched the subordinate nod, and climb out through the window to disappear. Flux checked around to see if everyone else was okay, and then migrated back to her spot of watching the door. Just over half the room was packed away. The bared shelves looked like protoforms, gaunt and bony. Flux seemed to comm someone, as if checking up on them, and then her hand fell back to cross with the other arm. “I think this has gone on too long, if you ask me,” she said, and she sounded tired. Tourniquet got the feeling she wasn’t talking about the supply raid. “We had the same goals.”

 

“Well, now you just want to kill organics,” he said, looking up at her, and watched her shoulders heave in a hearty scoff as her face scrunched.

 

“Not me,” she said, in a bit of a huff as she watched her subordinates. “Never. I’ll tell you what, if Megatron would get his head out of his exhaust pipes he-” she sighed, shaking her head as her face relaxed. “I’m sorry. You didn’t sign up for a lecture. All I’m saying is that… yeah. Not on my ship.”

 

“I bet that goes over well,” Tourniquet said, and her face tightened a little.

 

“I’m not the most popular,” she said, “I’ve had… problems in the past. But that just means it’s worth it.”

 

“Almost done, Major General!” Brights called, flighty demeanor on display. Flux’s face softened into a smile.

 

“Well done,” she called back, “let’s hurry up and get this over with, shall we?”

 

“Aye aye, Sir!” they called back, cheerfully, and Tourniquet almost kind of liked them a little bit, if he forgot what was going on. Flux sighed, cheeks puffing before she let the rush of air out. Tourniquet looked over at her.

 

“You talk like you know Megatron well,” Tourniquet said, “Aside from being a Major General.”

 

“Oh, I do,” Flux said, as if it was a curse. “I do, without a doubt. We used to be fr -- we’re -- it’s complicated. He’s… changed.”

 

“Maybe he was always like this?” Tourniquet suggested, looking her up and down. Her head turned away and a foot tapped -- Tourniquet quailed internally.

 

“I have to believe he wasn’t,” she said, quietly, “I… I have to believe he wasn’t. If he was -- if he was-”

 

“Then what are you here for?” Tourniquet guessed, sympathetically. Flux sighed again, much more heavily.

 

“I know why I’m here,” she said, “A Decepticon stands up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. What he is… I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a Decepticon.”

 

“Last box!” Someone shouted, and indeed it was true. Tourniquet watched the box get handled on its bumpy way up the train of hands and out the window. The shelves looked stripped bare like a gallery of frameless skeletons. Flux nodded, clearly pleased.

 

“Good job, everyone,” she said, “Is it all sorted on ship?”

 

“Yes Sir!”

 

“Excellent! Oracle and her crew are done in the weapons room -- you know what that means, people! I want everyone on that ship and checking in with me when you’re on, got it!”

 

“Yes Sir!” Everyone in attendance shouted, and Tourniquet couldn’t help but feel there was a unity that went beyond faction loyalty there. Flux turned to him, and her strong face was surprisingly gentle. Her yellow eyes glowed in the dim light. 

 

“Do you like to read, Tourniquet?”

 

“Huh?” The question was unexpected. Flux inclined an eyebrow and dipped her head as if to say “I said what I said”. “Uh -- yeah, I do.”

 

“Good,” she enthused, reaching into her subspace and pulling out a beat-up datapad. “Good. Other than snacks, this is all I had on me. I hope you don’t mind my numerous annotations.”

 

She handed it to him, and Tourniquet gaped, confused and humbled. “I… why are you giving me this?”

 

“Consider it a token of my appreciation and goodwill,” Flux said warmly, offering it to him a little more plainly. “Please, take it. I’ve read it more times than I can count. It’s a dime-store romance, admittedly. What can I say, it’s dramatic.”

 

Tourniquet took it. “You annotated a dime-store romance novel?”

 

“Yeah,” Flux said, a bit -- sheepishly? Her smile seemed a little embarrassed, as her hand came to rub the back of her helm. He took it, and looked down at the title as she kept speaking. “What can I say, I’m an avid bibliophile.”

 

Tourniquet fought tears. His brother Vertigo adored shitty romance novels. There was no way that Flux could have known, but this… this was a perfect gift. “I can see that,” he mumbled, and Flux laid a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Be safe, hm?” she said, gesturing with her helm at large about the facility. “And come with me, why don’t you.”

 

The last of her troops shimmied out through the windows, but she was too big to fit. She steered Tourniquet out into the hallway, closing the door just as the guard she’d gut-punched started to stir. The doors shut, and Carapace strode to meet them, inclining their head to Tourniquet before coming to murmur in Flux’s audial. Their mandibles clacked in front of their mouth.

 

“Good,” Flux murmured, and pushed Tourniquet in front of her. “Then let’s get out of here, then. Did Oracle say when the timer was going to go off?”

 

“Couple of minutes,” Carapace said, “all of mine are on the ship, and so are hers. Regus’, too. We have to run.”

 

“Can do,” Flux said, and then pushed Tourniquet again just to spur him. “Come on, Tourniquet, I can’t have you blow up on me now.”

 

“Blow up?” Tourniquet squeaked, running along in front of them, “Is my supervisor still in that room?”

 

“Uh,” Flux said, glancing to meet eyes with Carapace. The bug-former shrugged, and Flux lifted two fingers to her audial. “Oracle, did you drag the supervisor out? Our helper is concerned about him.” She seemed to wait for a response. “Get him out if you can,” she said after a moment, and hung up. “She’ll take care of it,” Flux said, voice terse and almost anxious.

 

They ran in silence for a minute after that, and then they were joined by Regus. “All units aboard ship, Major General,” they huffed, keeping pace with the full-tilt run that Flux was at. Carapace wasn’t far behind. 

 

“Good,” Flux said, and Tourniquet ran at the front, almost comically leading the pack of much larger Decepticons. In another perspective, he was almost being forced to run at the front by the wall of solid Con behind him. And in yet another, it seemed as if Flux was keeping him at the front to shield him from a potential blast. “Supervisor is out, Tourniquet.”

 

He didn’t have the wherewithal to reply, spark pounding in his ears as they ran. The facility was winding and twisting, that was for sure, and Oracle joined them at an intersection with the supervisor slung over her shoulder.

 

“You’re welcome,” she griped, also keeping stride with them, taking her place in front of Carapace. “I could’ve gotten blown up, you know.”

 

“You’re alright, stop groaning,” Flux tossed back, laying eyes on the double doors that led to the exit. “Exit in sight. Oracle, time.”

 

“About ten seconds,” Oracle said grimly, “We need to be in a hundred feet clearance from the building.”

 

“Well, we’d better taxi down this runway, then,” Flux said, and sped up. Tourniquet had to speed up as well, to avoid her clipping his heels; he must not have been going fast enough for his semi-captors, because Flux scooped him up under one arm. “Sorry, Tourniquet, but we need to go faster.”

 

He didn’t object, largely because he was too scared to speak. Ten seconds and this place was going to blow up. How many people were going to get hurt?

 

“Door!” Regus shouted, and then blasted the doors off their hinges with their gun to clear the way. The group burst out of the building just as a boom sounded, and Flux shouted something like “heads up!” before throwing Tourniquet as far as she could manage away from the catastrophe. As the spun in the air, slowly, Tourniquet looked back over the facility that he’d been working peacefully in just a few hours before, and watched a huge explosion mushroom up from the weapons room. His supervisor was hurled his way as well, and he watched the explosion spread from the weapons room to the boiler room, and then to the power room, and the whole building exploded with a force that propelled him even further. He just had time to process the fact that Flux and her team were getting onto their ship before he hit the ground and all went dark.

  
  
  


\------------------------

  
  
  


Haven sighed, scrubbing his eyes. He was so damn tired, he might as well go to bed. He’d been staring at this report for an hour grinding his gears without getting anything done. He stood up, and cast a glance at the shitty little bed he’d set up for himself. Maybe he should try to get some sleep in a real bed -- this mattress was waging hell on his back. God, he hadn’t slept in his own real bed in years. He and Thinstreak had just drifted apart again, and were fighting whenever they tried to live together. So they just didn’t. Haven was considering taking up the empty room for the CMO, but that… felt like a betrayal. If Haven officially put his name down on the room, it made all of this real.

 

He shook it off, and scrubbed at his face, groaning. If he couldn’t sleep in the bed, he could at least raid what was technically still his fridge. He shuffled out, and down the hall, opening the door to the living room quietly. He closed it behind himself, and went into the kitchen, opening the fridge. Grabbing a couple of snacks, and something to drink, he started to close the fridge when a noise came from Thinstreak’s office. Morbidly curious, Haven shuffled over, keeping his steps quiet. It was three in the morning! Thinstreak was usually asleep by now. Haven listened at the door.

 

“Mm, Chromepoint,” Thinstreak’s voice said, low and soft, and gasps came from inside the room. Haven’s spark surged into his throat. He didn’t stick around to listen to the rest of it. He fled the suite, making it all the way to his desk before he started crying.

 

In his spark, he should have known that Thinstreak was still cheating on him. Hell, they hadn’t slept together for a few centuries at least. Haven’s depression meant that his libido was absolute shit, and he was ace on top of it, so he hadn’t thought to pay it any mind. It hadn’t occurred to him that Thinstreak had something in common with much of the population he was assigned to watch over -- that is, he was a repeat offender.

 

Haven stress-ate all of his snacks in one sitting, and downed the drink he’d gotten, fingers shaking. He could have been hearing things. He could have been imagining it. After all, it was late, and Haven had been working himself to the protoform in an effort to distract himself. He just needed some rest. He got up, turned out the lights, and lay down on his cot, pulling the blankets over himself. He didn’t sleep a wink the rest of the night. Just before dawn, a crazy idea floated through his brain.

 

_ What if you just divorced him? _

 

_ That’s crazy, _ Haven dismissed, but it stayed with him. It hung around like a bad decal, impossible to scrape away. Two weeks later, Thinstreak wanted to talk, and like an idiot, Haven came running. 

 

Thinstreak sat across from him at the kitchen table, and sighed. “Haven, I think we can both tell this isn’t working.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Haven said, desperate to fix things. It was just in his nature. “I… I know I need to communicate more.”

 

“It’s not just that,” Thinstreak said, crossing his arms in irritation. “We haven’t slept in the same bed since -- since our first little incident. We don’t eat together, we don’t do things together. We practically live separate lives.”

 

“I can fix it,” Haven offered, eyes wide. “Just tell me what you want from this.”

 

“I want a divorce,” Thinstreak said bluntly, seemingly harsh and unamused. “That’s what I want, Haven. This? You and me? It’s not working. It’s over.”

 

Haven’s jaw dropped, eyes widening. Hurt boiling in his spark, he fought sudden tears. “Oh, I see,” he snapped, suddenly very angry. Thinstreak was the one stepping out on him, and Haven was at fault for letting the relationship slip away? He saw how it was. “So you think you can just cheat on me, say you want a divorce, and everything’s fine?”

 

“That was ages ago!” Thinstreak exploded, “You still haven’t let that go?”

 

“It was two weeks ago!” Haven yelled back, and watched Thinstreak’s eyes widen for a change. “I heard you, you disgusting bastard! You and Chromepoint, again! Why don’t you just marry him, since you seem to like him so much!”

 

“Maybe I will!” Thinstreak snapped defensively, and Haven cried out, turning away in disgust.

 

“I hate you,” he snapped, before he could check himself. The room went quiet. Immediately, the doctor regretted his hasty words, and turned back to apologize, guilt eating at him. “I’m-”

 

“Well, if that’s how you feel,” Thinstreak said, coldly, interrupting him, “I’ll put in the papers today.”

 

“I-”

 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Thinstreak said, smiling a very not-sweet smile at him. “Wouldn’t want to bother you with my social life.”

 

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?” Haven shot back before he could catch himself, pissed again. “Because I’d call it-”

 

“Primus above, you are  _ insufferable!” _ Thinstreak howled, banging his fist on the table. 

 

“If you feel that way, divorce me!” Haven shouted.

 

_ “I’m trying to!” _

 

**_“Fine!"_ **

 

**_“_ ** **_Fine!_ ** **_”_ **

 

Haven cried out in disgust again, got up, and stormed out of both the kitchen and their suite. He stomped all the way back to his office in the clinic, ignoring Palaver’s attempts at asking him what was wrong, and yanked his second drawer down’s door open, rifling around frantically for some cygarettes. After shaking one into his hand from the box, he threw the box on the desk and slammed the door shut, fleeing the building to go smoke out front. Fingers shaking as he brought the cygarette to his lips and inhaled, he puffed out smoke.

 

His comms suite pinged him, from Palaver.  **:Are you alright?:**

 

Haven puffed some more, rattled and hurt. How could he have fallen for Thinstreak’s nonsense so easily? How could he have fallen for Thinstreak in the first place, at this rate? What had happened to him? He did his best to ease Palaver’s worries.  **:I’m fine. Thinstreak and I had another fight.:**

 

**:Oh… I’m sorry. What happened?:**

 

**:he’s cheating again.:**

 

**:oh, god… that’s awful.:**

 

**:yeah. He wants a divorce.:**

 

**:Wait, he’s the one cheating and he wants the divorce? What a sleaze.:**

 

Haven chuckled a little out loud, bitterly amused at Palaver’s reaction. It was true, he supposed -- Thinstreak’s actions were incredibly sleazy.  **:tell me about it. You think I should divorce him?:**

 

**:do you love him?:**

 

_ Yes,  _ Haven almost replied on instinct, and then hesitated. Did he? Thinstreak no longer made his spark flutter -- he couldn’t imagine a happy future growing old with him any more, nor could he imagine their future after this war. Thinstreak wasn’t at the forefront of his mind these days, not like he used to be -- and worst of all, when Haven laid eyes on the jet he felt only apathy. At first he thought it was just his depression. But now… 

 

Now, he realized that he had just fallen out of love. He had fallen out of love, and apparently, so had Thinstreak. Haven could strain and toil with all his might to fix this relationship, but if it wasn’t a two-sided effort -- it just wouldn’t work. He took a deep drag and blew smoke out of his nose, lips pursing. He pulled up the boarding directory, and excised his name from the warden’s suite, transferring his place of board to the empty CMO’s suite next to the medibay. Guilt and relief mixed in his lines.

 

Palaver pinged him again.  **:judging by ur extremely long silence, i’m gonna take that as a no.:**

 

**:I think you’re right. You know what? I’m going to see if i can get the papers in before he does.:**

 

**:good for you. Stick it to him.:**

 

Haven smiled, and took another drag, but this time it was borderline smug. He accessed the datanet and started looking through lists of divorce lawyers. He picked out a few that seemed promising, and then went over them in more detail, perusing through their credentials. All were available via teleconference. He finished off his cygarette, and went back inside, sparkbeat picking up. Now that he’d started this, he found himself eager to get moving with it. He made a beeline for his room -- his old room -- and let himself in using CMO credentials instead of his personal ones. Then, he went into the bedroom, and started packing up everything that was his -- including the blankets (but not the sheets) on the bed. After all, they were his. Then, he went to the washracks, and took everything of his from there as well. He subspaced it all, not quite giddy -- he wasn’t happy enough for that -- but certainly agitated.

 

He came out of the bedroom to see Thinstreak coming in from his office. The two stopped, and stared at each other for a moment.

 

“What are you doing in here?” Thinstreak asked, lifting an eye ridge. Haven shrugged.

 

“You want to divorce me, I’m getting out of your wires,” he said, “I’m moving into the CMO suite. I’ve already done the paperwork. Just took care of it.”

 

“Now, hang on a minute, let’s not be hasty,” Thinstreak said, brow lowering in irritation. “What, are you just being petty now?”

 

“No, Thinstreak, we’re separated, remember?” Haven said, both sets of arms crossing. “I’m taking my things and moving out. I thought that’s what you wanted, unless you…  _ wanted _ to divorce me and keep living in the same suite together?”

 

“God I hate you,” Thinstreak muttered, throwing up his hands before turning away. “Fine, then, do whatever you want. You always do.”

 

“Oh, that’s rich,” Haven tossed back, going into the kitchen to pick up his dishes and his food. As he gathered, he griped. “That’s rich, coming from you!”

 

“Me? Me? Are you kidding?” Thinstreak came to stand in the doorway, huffing. Haven glared at him over his shoulder and returned to his work. “And what, are you going to take the chairs too?”

 

“Maybe I will,” Haven snapped, growing more angry by the second. “God, you are a -- a bastard!”

 

“Then why did you marry me?” Thinstreak shouted, and Haven whirled around.

 

_ “I don’t know!” _ he shouted back, and the two huffed in silence, fire in their eyes for a moment. Haven composed himself, took a breath, and turned back around to finish packing up the last of his things from the kitchen. “I don’t know. I think I loved you.”

 

“You think?” Thinstreak said, also quiet. “What, so was all of this a lie, like you being  _ neutral?” _

 

“You are a filthy rat bastard and I hope you rot in hell,” Haven snarled, pointing at Thinstreak’s face as he passed him. “That was a dirty swipe!”

 

“You deserve it!” Thinstreak shouted after him, and Haven slammed the door.

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


Gadget sat at her computer, compiling her data as she tapped a claw quickly on her desk. Just last week, her paint nanites had started peeling. Aberhalde said it was from stress, and gave her that pitying Look the other doctor had when she’d come in with a bent antenna. Gadget didn’t like it. It made her feel like a doll, and a broken one at that. Her claw tapping increased,  _ taptaptaptaptap _ . 

 

She jumped as Cephalon walked through the door. ReDouble wheeled around in his chair from where he sat at his desk. “Tebba Lab One, you book it we cook it,” he said idly, clearly fucking around. Then his eyes lighted on Cephalon. “Oh, hey. Cephalon? What’s up?”

 

“Nothing too terribly pressing,” Cephalon greeted pleasantly. “Just running something by Gadget for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Not at all!” ReDouble said, glancing over at her. “Just, uh, she needs to log more hours in the lab, so don’t steal her away quite yet.”

 

Cephalon didn’t answer verbally, but nodded, finishing his walk over to Gadget’s station and brandishing a datapad. “Could you look over this raw data for me? I’m trying to get you more exposed to mnemosurgical results and processing them for reports.”

 

“YEAH. JUST PUT IT OVER HERE,” Gadget said, nodding at a spot on her desk and picking at a spot of peeling paint. It itched. Cephalon’s mouth quirked downwards a little, and he brushed her shoulder with his fingertips.

 

“Everything alright, Gadget?”

 

“HUH? OH. YEAH. I’M FINE.” Anxiety swirled in her gut. “JUST A LITTLE SHITTY NANITE BOUT.”

 

“Mm,” Cephalon said with sympathy rather than pity -- likely because he guessed what the root cause was. “Take care of yourself, will you?”

 

“GOT IT.” Gadget looked away. “I’VE UH. GOT WORK TO DO.”

 

“Of course.” Cephalon pulled away and inclined his head. In spite of herself -- and of his past occupation -- Gadget did sort of like him. In all fairness, he  _ was _ very respectful. “I’d like those parsed results by the end of the week, given your lab workload, if you could.”

 

“MM,” Gadget threw over her shoulder in agreement, and burrowed back into her computer code, hunching over her monitor. She barely registered footsteps approaching until ReDouble leaned on the back of her chair.

 

“Hey,” he mumbled, “you alright? You seem really stressed lately.”

 

“I’M JUST ANXIOUS,” she said, typing. “NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT.”

 

“You sure? I’ve never seen your paint peel -- at least, not like it is now. C’mon, Gadget, you’re my friend. I’m worried about you.”

 

Gadget sighed, hard, and something in her sagged. Her head dipped, finials drooping with it. “I… UM. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO TELL YOU THIS.” 

 

“Might as well just spit it out,” he said, worry thick in his voice. “Really, we’re friends.”

 

“IT’S JUST THAT IT INVOLVES SOMEONE YOU’RE CLOSE TO. OTHER THAN ME. AND IT’S… NOT VERY NICE.”

 

“Gadget, seriously.”

 

“ALRIGHT. UH. SO… CAPACITOR, SHE’S… BEEN ON MY CASE FOR A WHILE.”

 

“I mean, yeah, she’s a little strict, but how do you mean?” ReDouble said, head picking up from his crossed forearms. 

 

“EVER SINCE SHE BECAME COMMANDER, SHE’S BEEN REALLY HARD ON ME. AND I FEEL LIKE I CAN’T DO ANYTHING RIGHT. AND. UM. A WHILE AGO, SHE GRABBED ME BY THE ANTENNA SO HARD THAT THEY BENT.”

 

ReDouble gasped, and Gadget’s tanks dropped. “What? You’re serious?”

 

“YEAH.” Gadget stopped typing to let her claws fiddle with each other. “I DIDN’T. KNOW HOW TO TELL YOU.”

 

“I’m glad you did,” ReDouble murmured, field buzzing lowly with guilt. “I’m going to admit, I don’t really know how to help. Should I say something to her?”

 

“NO,” Gadget rushed out, “NO, SHE’LL GET REALLY MAD. I. UH. JUST… YOU DON’T REALLY NEED TO DO ANYTHING. I JUST WANT SOME SUPPORT.” 

 

“Yeah, of course.” ReDouble slipped his arms from the top of the seat and around Gadget’s front to hug her. “I got your back. I’m gonna go back to my desk, but let me know if you need anything, okay?”

 

“YEAH.” Gadget sighed, picking at her paint again. She was stressed, so her paint was peeling. The paint was peeling, so it itched, so she picked at it. She picked at it because it itched, and it stressed her out that she was picking at it, and… the cycle continued, on top of Capacitor’s generously heaped abuse. But she’d been making leaps and bounds in her education with Cephalon… even if it was a crash course. He’d had to leave out the full medical course -- Capacitor claimed that there wasn’t time or resources for that, even though Aberhalde had offered their services as a fellow teacher. Gadget was a little worried that that might come to be necessary, but for now all she could do was follow Cephalon’s teaching and do her best.

 

She finished up her coding and moved on to Cephalon’s raw data packet, intending to chip away at some of it before going on her break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This chapter went up a little early because I'm VERY busy tomorrow!!! enjoy :>
> 
> Tourniquet belongs to my friend moosekababs <3
> 
> tell me what y'all think!


	18. Putrefaction Makes for Ugly Rotting Remnants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flux meets an ally in a troubling time, and Gadget's world comes crashing down at her feet in a horrific turn of events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible trigger warnings:**
> 
> **brief gore mention beginning with the phrase "what he saw next would change his life forever" and ending with "after a minute or two, aberhalde sagged...". if need be i'll go back in and edit this with line specifications but i'm very tired aldfnksd**
> 
> **no others that I can think of but if you need something tagged please let me know!**

“Oh, my god,” Flux mumbled, crossly evaluating a memo that Megatron had sent out from where she lounged in her captain’s chair. “Is he serious?”

 

“What is it this time?” Conure questioned, from her place at one of the bridge monitor screens. “What’s he done?”

 

“Megatron wants me to come back for an officer cadre celebration,” Flux groaned, leaning her head back. “It’s to raise morale and show unity within the ranks. It’s just a photo op.”

 

“Well, yeah, but he does that stuff all the time,” Conure said, turning. “It’s all about projecting strength, or whatever.”

 

“He kicks me off the Conclave and still comes running to me to give his photo ops credibility,” Flux muttered harshly, deleting the memo. However, she added the date to her calendar with a note to RSVP after her shift. “Why do I get the feeling he’s just going to steamroll me for publicity points?”

 

“Most likely because he is,” Carapace chimed in, eyes rooted to cer screen. “You know this.”

 

“Yeah,” Flux sighed. She found herself wishing that she didn’t have to be here anymore -- that her units didn’t have to be here anymore. Several times, she’d found herself wishing that she could just set a course for  _ not here _ and speed off into the inky blackness of space. “I’m just not looking forward to a whole week of political  _ keg sipping.” _

 

“Keg sipping implies having fun,” Oracle tossed back, deadpan, and Flux had to laugh a little.

 

“Too true,” she chuckled, and then sighed. “Three point four something million years and counting… do you ever think it’ll be over?”

 

“Yeah, and I’m a petrorabbit,” Conure scoffed, smiling a bitter smile.

 

“Actually, Conure, you’re an absolute whore,” Carapace said, in that very special Deadpan Joke Tone of cers (that was really no different from any other tone ce used). Conure threw a piece of plastic trash from her subspace at the other general.

 

“The point was to say something I’m not, spikeweed,” she tossed back, and fell into a fit of giggles. Flux had to laugh as well. It was nice to see everyone getting along, especially with times as tough as they were. Her smile faded as she decided to just bite the blaster shot and RSVP for the officer cadre function. Get it over with. She checked off her attendance and cleared her throat.

 

“Regus, set a course for the Nemesis,” she sighed, “I suppose it’s time we docked there. It’s been a while.”

 

“Right away, Sir,” Regus said, adjusting the nav systems. Gently, the ship steered its way on course, and Flux sighed.

 

“I’ve got a general checkup at the medibay,” she said, getting up. “I’m going off shift five minutes early.”

 

The gathered generals chorused goodbyes and Flux took her leave, taking her time to walk to the medibay. She got there a couple minutes early, and was greeted by Flyraid and Hazard chatting.

 

“Favorite Squadron X member,” Hazard tossed out, and Flyraid scoffed.

 

“Easy,” he said, “Valve.”

 

“You’re just saying that because you’re like 12,” Hazard joked, and Flyraid laughed. Flux poked her head in, and both medics saluted her.

 

“At ease,” she said, waving a hand. “Just coming in for my checkup.”

 

“Right,” Hazard said, waving her over to a berth. Flyraid looked up from his paperwork.

 

“Hey, Major General,” he said, “Why don’t you want that fusion cannon I offered you last month?”

 

“In the time it would take me to charge up a fusion cannon, I could have already fired six of my other internal weapons,” Flux said immediately, holding out her arms for Hazard to scan with the rest of her. “Something like that would really just be for show.”

 

“Well, yeah,” Flyraid said, “But don’t you want that whole image?”

 

“No, Flyraid, I don’t. I want an image of someone who will protect, not destroy. I don’t want my imagine to be meaningless posturing for intimidation points. Megatron may very well feel as if relinquishing his weapon is necessary for peace, but --” Flux sighed. “It’s nothing. I’m preaching again.”

 

“I like your style,” Hazard volunteered, and Flyraid nodded, smiling at her. Flux was so proud of him -- he really had just blossomed as a medic. And as a person! “Besides, I kind of get what you mean.”

 

He checked over her wires, running a couple more scans before testing her joint mobility. “But on the other hand, ideology isn’t going to be much help when you’re in the middle of a pack of Autobots.”

 

Flux eyed him thoughtfully, nodding. Perhaps he was right. Up until this point, she’d resisted the popular trend of bigger warframes getting fusion cannons -- even Megatron. She thought it was really just meaningless posturing, a sort of size queen contest. But there had been several times when Flux herself had nearly been overwhelmed by a particularly dogged foe, and if she was being completely honest, a fusion cannon would have really helped. “Mhm.” After a few more moments, she nodded again. “Perhaps you’re both right. Alright, then, I think I will have one attached. Just a mounted one, on my arm. Something  _ modest, _ for god’s sake.”

 

“Oh, this is gonna look radical,” Flyraid nearly squealed in glee, going to get a weapons’ catalog so Flux could pick something out. Hazard put his hands on his hips.

 

“You are so immature,” he said, with no real venom. “Well, come on, bring the catalog over.”

 

Flyraid did, giddy with glee, and brandished it to her for her to take and scroll through. So she did, surveying the tab with a careful eye. There were single-barreled cannons, double-barreled cannons -- even triple-barreled cannons. Flux scrolled through them all until she found one that she liked. It was relatively low-profile, and it had decent specs for combat. She nodded, liking it more and more, and tapped it with her finger. “This one.”

 

“Aw, the MK-452?” Flyraid whined, half-joking. “That one’s so boring.”

 

“That’s the point, Flyraid,” Flux chastised gently, “It’s not meant to be a statement.”

 

“Alright, alright,” he said, taking the catalog from her hands. “I’ll order it today. We should be able to pick it up at the next docking opportunity.”

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


Gadget watched as Cephalon stood back from the prisoner, withdrawing his needles and going over to the small jar of sanitizer to dunk them in, swishing them around to wash them. “Alright, that’s enough for right now. He needs a break.”

 

The prisoner panted in the chair, wheezing, and Cephalon frowned. “Capacitor isn’t answering my comms. I’m going to go talk to her, Gadget -- could you stay here and watch him?”

 

“UH. YEAH. WHY ISN’T SHE ANSWERING? DIDN’T SHE WANT THIS DONE, LIKE, IMMEDIATELY?”

 

“That’s what’s bothering me,” Cephalon mumbled, and walked out the door. He huffed to himself, and took up a quick pace down the hall and to the elevator. Capacitor’s behavior had been a lot more than he’d bargained for. He’d watched Gadget go from someone relatively relaxed and efficient to a nervous wreck of peeling paint and swimming in perfectionism. It was tragic, really. “Gadget of Carthex” had become a household name in computer science and mechanobiology. To see her unravel so neatly due to such unending pressure was like watching an artist steadily lose their mind. Cephalon was a doctor -- he wasn’t particularly sentimental, or sappy -- but someone like Gadget was a prodigy, a gift.

 

He got to Capacitor’s door and knocked. It opened, and the commander beckoned him in. “Mm,” she grunted, and the mnemosurgeon strode in, closing the door behind himself. “Got the report for me?”

 

“No,” Cephalon said, a mite irritated. “I commed you. We had to take a break.”

 

“A break?” Capacitor looked up at him. “What the fuck for?”

 

“So the prisoner’s brain didn’t melt out of his audials,” Cephalon said, eyes narrowing.

 

“Well, I’m sure he’s fine now, get back to it.” Capacitor said, starting to type on her keyboard again.

 

“I will not,” Cephalon argued,  “It’s my medical opinion that-”

 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Capacitor spoke over him, tamping down his argument physically by patting the air. “I don’t care. Get me some results or don’t come back.”

 

Cephalon huffed steam from his nose. If there was one thing he hated, it was unethical practices. But he could just go back and have everyone take a break without Capacitor knowing about it -- and it was looking like that was what he’d have to do. “Fine, then.”

 

He turned around, and the door opened. He stormed through it, closed it behind him, and took a couple of moments to breathe and calm down. Opening his eyes again, he started walking back, trying to calm himself down from the anger he felt. Capacitor was a hardass and a bitch -- and no doubt she only cared about herself -- but if he got her those results, she’d be off of his and Gadget’s ass. At least, until the next assignment. He punched the basement button on the elevator with perhaps a bit more fervor than necessary, and gloomily rode the elevator down. Then, he stepped out, and made his way back to the interrogation room, opening the door. What he saw next would change his life forever.

 

Gadget had her needle deep in the Con’s brain, and the poor bot was smoking from the audials as his frame trembled. Gadget was motionless, screen blank and haunting, and Cephalon cried out, rushing over. He thought she might have been about to say something, but it was too late -- he was already pulling her out, pushing her away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

“WHAT? CAPACITOR SAID YOU GAVE THE OKAY TO KEEP GOI-”

 

In the chair, the prisoner seized up, gurgling, and his brain did indeed liquefy, the smog coming out of every orifice now thick and black. What was left of his processor dribbled out of his audials, the hole in his helm, and his nose, and Cephalon watched in despair as Gadget watched in horror.

 

The prisoner went limp and still, field flickering out.

 

Cephalon turned on the empurata. “What have you done? Gadget, you’ve just killed him!”

 

“I WAS TRYING TO KEEP HIM ALIVE,” Gadget pleaded, and a slow sense of dread dawned on the mnemosurgeon as he listened. “CAPACITOR COMMED ME WHILE YOU WERE GONE AND SAID YOU’D GIVEN THE OKAY TO KEEP GOING, AND SHE WANTED ME TO GO AHEAD AND GET STARTED. AND SO I DID. BUT HE CODED ON ME WHILE I WAS IN, SO I WAS TRYING TO KEEP HIM ALIVE UNTIL YOU CAME BACK SO WE COULD FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO. I PANICKED. I PANICKED. I’M SORRY. I PANICKED.”

 

Cephalon’s hands came to cover his mouth as the situation became clear. Capacitor had just set Gadget up to take a very nasty fall and the empurata had tried to salvage the situation by keeping the patient alive on sheer willpower. “Oh, dear,” he murmured, and when Gadget hugged herself, shaking, he laid a hand on her shoulder. “I believe you, dear, I believe you. We have to report this, though. Yes, we do, Gadget, stop shaking your head. We have to. I promise I will vouch for you.”

 

“YOU SWEAR? I DIDN’T MEAN TO KILL HIM. HONEST I DIDN’T.”

 

“I know you didn’t,” Cephalon said gently, and commed both Aberhalde and Capacitor. “Report to room 113 immediately -- I repeat, report to room 113 immediately, we have a code gray on a prisoner.”

 

Cephalon tried to ignore the dread in his spark, and it only got worse as pounding footsteps neared the door, and the door burst open to reveal Aberhalde with a medikit, Capacitor, and two security guards. “Out of my way!” Aberhalde shrieked, shoving by and scanning the patient. Then, they injected him with mechadrenaline, and brought resuscitation tools out of their bag. Cephalon knew it would be futile -- he was already graying, and his brain liquid dripped out of his nose down his chin.

 

After a minute or two, Aberhalde sagged, shaking their head as they looked back up at Capacitor. “It was always going to be a long shot,” they said, “but he’s gone.”

 

Capacitor clenched her jaw, and a fuel line bulged in her neck. “Gadget,” she growled, “what the fuck did you do?”

 

Aberhalde cast a betrayed glance at the empurata. “Gadget?”

 

Gadget stepped back, plating standing up a little. “I JUST DID WHAT YOU TOLD ME TO DO!”

 

“And killed a mech in the process!” Aberhalde shouted. “Gadget, you melted his brain module! The cause of death was severe cranial hemorrhaging! You should have known better than to operate on someone who was that close, haven’t you learned anything with Cephalon?”

 

“I TRIED TO KEEP HIM ONLINE!” Gadget said, and Capacitor crossed her arms. 

 

“Security, arrest her.”

 

“WHAT?” Gadget shouted, as the two guards rushed forwards, one of them muttering about how of course she’d murdered the guy, she was an empurata. Cephalon cried out as they Myraendized her.

 

“Gadget of Carthex, you’re being arrested for the murder of an unarmed prisoner,” one said, and Cephalon cried out again.

 

“Now hang on a minute,” he said in vain, as they hauled her out stumbling. The others followed them. “It was criminally negligent homicide at _worst!_ Gadget was directly following Commander Capacitor’s orders to resume against my resignations!”

 

“With all due respect, Cephalon, you aren’t an officer of the law,” Capacitor said, shoving him back. “You’ll have your chance to explain the situation to her attorney. And then a judge.”

 

Gadget looked desperately over her shoulder at him, and Cephalon trailed to a stop, eyes wide. His spark trembled, all of his doubts from all of his previous work crashing down on him at once -- from where, in the past, it had just been slowly building, getting harder and harder to ignore. He’d told himself he was doing the right thing. But now -- as Gadget stumbled with how forcefully they were dragging her off -- he couldn’t ignore it, or tell himself any differently any more. His whole life’s work had been a sham.

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


“Approaching Ykwe,” Oracle reported, long braided cables running down the center of her helm like a crest shifting. They were resting to one side, starting at the metal of her helm, looping upwards due to the cables’ structural integrity, and then dragged down by the cable’s weight. The front braids covered her eyes, and they gleamed white with the rest of her pearlescent plating. “Dropping into atmospheric range now. Shall we send a shuttle, or dock as we are?”

 

“Let’s send a shuttle,” Flux said, “I could go by myself. It wouldn’t take too long. After all, I’m just picking up a new weapon. A ship as big as ours could be threatening.”

 

“Oh, right!” Conure chirped gleefully, head crest rattling. “A fusion cannon, how impressive!”

 

“It’s just to protect myself,” Flux chided. “Well, I s’pose I should get going. I should be back before nightfall. If I’m not, follow protocol.”

 

“Yes Sir.”

 

Flux nodded, and went to the shuttle bay, boarding her shuttle and flying out of the opening doors. She cruised down through the atmosphere and towards the city on the horizon, as her ship went back up into orbital space. Her radar fritzed, and she frowned, tapping it. It fritzed again, and she popped it once, never one to be above some good ol’ percussive maintenance. It fell back into line, and Flux sighed, turning her attention back to the window.

 

The back of her ship exploded, ripping apart the hull and engulfing her in flames, throwing her into the air and into freefall. Autobot ships rocketed past her, and she yelped, arms windmilling as she tried to flip herself over to transform. Another ship sped past, clipping just under her, and she went into a tumble, head over heels. It made her dizzy, and somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that they were toying with her as she fell, hoping to watch her make a crater in the quickly approaching ground. If she fell from this height, it was certainly all going to be over with a very mangled clank. Another ship made a pass to clip her, and desperately she reached out, grabbing it by the wing. She dragged it to the side, and down with her, stabilizing her from her desperate twirling and slowing her descent. Her spark pounding in her audials, she did her best to hang on, fingers denting metal. The ship flipped on its side, and her fingers slid right off. Flux screamed as she fell, reaching for the wing as the ship righted itself. She momentarily saw into the cockpit, and saw the Autobots within laughing at her, delighted at her terror. 

 

She commed her units. Or at least, she opened her comms link, taking a breath to give an order, and then the ground rushed up at her. She hit it like a dead weight, and all went black.

 

What seemed like seconds later, she felt herself stir, whole body in pain. The plane thought she might have felt other fields… she tried to move, but her frame wouldn’t respond, and she groaned, passing back out again.

 

When Flux flickered online for real, the first thing she processed was pain, mostly in her helm. The second thing she registered was two voices bickering softly. It made her helm pound even more.

 

“You drank the last of the engex, didn’t you?”

 

“What, it’s not like it was labeled!”

 

“That’s still really rude,” The other voice retorted, and Flux groaned, shifting. She felt foggy, disoriented, and the other two hushed. As she cracked her eyes open, head pounding, a third stranger knelt in front of her, framed in the light at his back. It hurt her eyes, it was so bright. For a moment, Flux worried that she was dead. Her units would be terribly upset about that.

 

“Are you alright?” the mech kneeling over her queried, and she rasped questioningly in response, wheezing a bit.

 

“Mmm… what?”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, I’m… I’ll be okay.” Flux’s hand came up to scrub at her face, covering her eyes and shielding them from the light. God… it hurt so much… 

 

“Okay, do you know what year it is?”

 

Flux had to think on that one, foggy brain module hurting too much to think. Eventually, she told them, and the stranger in front of her nodded. The other two behind him watched. It was so hot outside, the sun baking down like it was mid-afternoon instead of evening.

 

The stranger asked her another question; “And do you know where you are?”

 

“Mmm… no. No, I don’t.” Flux coughed, pain registering itself in her chest as well. And then her abdomen, and then her hips, and her legs, and her arms, and -- everything.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Flux of Lower Crestover,” she responded, and the ringleader nodded.

 

“Good, good. A couple more questions. Can you tell me who the current leader of the Autobots is?”

 

“Optimus Prime,” Flux grumbled, hand coming up to scrub her face. The mech kneeling over her nodded, encouragingly.

 

“Alright, and can you tell me who the current leader of the Decepticons is?”

 

Flux swore violently, vehemently, even though it hurt her helm. She cursed and spat and raved and finally relaxed with one last cry of  _ “A big purple  _ **_bastard,_ ** _ that’s who!” _ and the ringleader nodded, finally able to get in a word edgewise.

  
  


“Good enough; can you sit up?”

  
  


\--------------------------------

  
  


Gadget trembled, violently, in shock. Across from her, her court-appointed attorney reviewed her case. “I’m going to be honest with you, Gadget,” they said, “High command wants to make an example of you. There’s been a rash of Con prisoners turning up dead, and they want to scare other people off from murder.”

 

“I DIDN’T MURDER HIM,” Gadget insisted, and her attorney placated her by holding up a hand.

 

“I know that,” they said, “and you know that. But we need to convince the jury of that. That’s what I’m here for. Your trial is going to be in a year or two, at the rate High Command is going. They’re offering you a plea deal.”

 

“WHAT IS IT?”

 

“Five hundred thousand years in a supermax prison, and you avoid the death penalty.”

 

“THE DEATH PENALTY?” Gadget squeaked, more in spirit than in voice. “BUT I -- IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!” 

 

“I know, Gadget,” her attorney coached gently, “I know. But they’re charging you with murder, and specifically, murder of an unarmed prisoner, and Capacitor’s managed to make a second charge of obstruction of military justice stick.”

 

“SHE WANTS TO GET RID OF ME.”

 

“Maybe so,” the lawyer said, “but for now, let’s focus on getting you out of this.”

 

“DO… YOU THINK I SHOULD TAKE THE DEAL?”

 

“I don’t know, Gadget,” they admitted, “the prosecution is still building their case. You have several strong character witnesses, and Aberhalde has agreed to speak on your behalf. If I’m being honest, since you have Cephalon  _ and _ Aberhalde on your side, you have a good chance of winning this at trial, since both were present at the immediate scene.”

 

Gadget sighed, and drooped, shaking. “I’M SCARED.” 

 

“We’ll get through this, hm? Stay the course. Don’t speak to the prosecution, you have a right to avoid self-incrimination.”

  
  


\------------------------

  
  


Flux had since sat up, and the three nomads were helping her hammer the dents out of her plating. 

 

“It’s not the best fix, but it’ll keep you going until you get to a real medibay,” Sanctuary said, patting her arm. Flux groaned, stretching, and grimaced at the pain.

 

“Thank you, for your kindness,” she answered, turning back to the trio. “You didn’t have to help me, but you did.”

 

“I help people who need it,” Sanctuary said wisely, “That’s just what we do. Is there somewhere we can take you? What happened to leave you stranded out here? We saw shuttle debris nearby.”

 

“I was headed to Capital City,” Flux answered, “There’s a weapons shipment I was picking up. I was due this evening -- what time is it?”

 

“Judging by the dust cover, the debris was two days old,” Sanctuary said, in concern. “I’m afraid you might have missed your meeting.”

 

“Then my units will have docked at Capital City,” Flux said, “it’s part one of the protocol. They’ll be looking for me-”

 

A ship soared overhead, zooming low, and Flux recognized the dents on the wing. It was one of the ships who had ambushed her. Two more flanked it, and they dropped Autobot soldiers, all brandishing weapons. “You were supposed to have croaked,” one called out, folding out cannons from his shoulders. “I was coming back to grab your head. What a hoot, right? Rolling that across my superior’s desk. Imagine his face!”

 

Flux pulled out a gun, and stood in front of Sanctuary’s crew by instinct. “This is a truce planet, Autobot.”

 

“Wrong!” The Autobot crowed, gleefully aiming his own gun at her. His dozen-or-so followers did the same, and she pointed hers at them. “Capital City is a truce  _ city, _ and you hadn’t made it there by a long shot! It was a helluva time watching you fall, you should have seen your face.”

 

“Back off, and no one has to get hurt,” Flux said, voice low in warning.

 

“Oh, hell no,” the Autobot said, “I’m getting your head even if I have to shoot it off of you. Then, who knows? I’ll move on to your buddies.”

 

Flux saw red, and charged, blaster fire pinging off of her and stinging in little pinpricks. She plowed into their ranks, bowling them away, and howled as a lucky shot hamstrung her. She knelt on one knee, and swept her wing, clotheslining several bots on her left. She shot them all in quick succession, aiming for the t-cog. Non-fatal, but it would put them down for the count. Soon, the only one that was left was the leader, and Flux struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on one foot. The Autobot leader scrambled backwards, face frozen in fear.

 

Flux heaved her breaths, and raised her gun, aiming for his t-cog. He cried out as she pulled the trigger, and then she turned away, limping heavily back to Sanctuary and company. His compatriots were hiding behind him, flinching as she stumbled. She managed to regain her footing, and grimaced, leg dragging slightly. “How far is it to Capital City?”

 

“Far enough that you’d never get there walking,” Sanctuary said, “At least, not without help.”

 

“Will you help me?” Flux implored, eyebrows pulling up. “Please, I have to get back to my units. They need me.”

 

Sanctuary eyed her, and then turned to his companions, eyeing them up and down. A silent word seemed to pass between them, and he turned back to Flux. “We’ll help you. Come aboard.”

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


Flux glanced up from her sparking knee joint when Sanctuary knocked on her doorframe. “We’re here, ready to dock.”

 

“Thank you,” she responded, and Sanctuary inclined his head to her, taking his leave. He returned to the bridge, watching Venturefar pull them into the dock.

 

“I think this wasn’t a good idea,” Venturefar grumbled. “It’s Flux. She could kill us all.”

 

“We help everyone,” Sanctuary chastised gently. “Besides, you agreed to this.”

 

“Yeah, I know. But… what if we did the wrong thing?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sanctuary said, as the engine turned to idle, “I think this will turn out alright.”

 

Flux limped heavily onto the bridge. “I… wanted to thank you all for this. I just commed my units. For now, I’ll wait by the _ Erstwhile Assemblance,  _ so I don’t hold you up.”

 

“Safe travels, Major General,” Sanctuary wished her, as the three waved her off. She bowed a little awkwardly, fist thumping her badge, and limped away, down the exit ramp. They watched her go to her ship, and a medic ran out to her, followed by another, and a steady stream of people came after them, clamoring around the plane as they helped her onto her ship.

 

Sanctuary sighed. “Well… let’s get going.”

  
  


\----------------------------

  
  


“Major General,” Megatron greeted, extending his arms widely. Starscream sipped bitterly on something engexic behind him, and several other officers milled about the small complex of rooms. Tables and hors d'oeuvres had been set up in every room, and there was a small, temporary bar. “How lovely to see you again! You look well. A fusion cannon? Interesting addition.”

 

Flux smiled tightly, leaning into the hug but not quite fully hugging him back. “I figured it was time.”

 

“Indeed it was,” Megatron said, “I was starting to think you’d wanted to get captured by Autobots or something.”

 

Flux felt part of herself check out, and forced herself to laugh along with everyone else. As soon as she could, she made her way to the bar, and ordered a creamed engex drink -- spiked with something harder. She downed it in a few gulps and ordered a refill -- and spent most of the night getting very, very drunk,  only coming away when called for a photo with Megatron. She hazily got herself into position, feeling his arm around her shoulders, and didn’t smile. The camera flashed, and she hung around for the polite couple of minutes before slipping away again, drinking her sorrows at the bar. She blinked, vision hazy. Someone was standing in front of her.

 

“Virtue,” she slurred, beaming. It was so lovely to see him! “How’re you? You look nice…”

 

“Thank you, Major General. Something the matter? You seem a bit off.”

 

“Me?” Flux made a sloppy “psssht” noise, waving a hand. “Fine, fine! A lil tipsy, ‘as all. I’m good.”

 

“Ah. I see.” Virtue cleared his throat. “Then I suppose I’ll be going -- I’ve lost my line of sight on Starscream, and we know how that can end up.”

 

Flux laughed boisterously, as she vaguely watched the Virtue shaped thing walk away. He was mumbling something that she couldn’t catch -- and her face felt so hot. She burped into her arm, and idly looked around the room, all of a sudden feeling very much more than just a little tipsy. In the back of her mind, she wasn’t really all that surprised. She’d been slamming drinks back one after the other, and it seems they’d finally caught up to her. She planted her elbow on the bar counter to keep her balance, and carefully kept her feet rooted where they were lest she fall over. 

 

She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but in her blurry vision, a crimson blob stormed up to her.

 

“How much have you had?” Havoc demanded, voice low. Flux beamed, overjoyed to see her. She looked so gorgeous! The cargo plane was hit with a wave of affection and nearly started crying.

 

“Hi, Havoc,” she managed, allowing her smile to widen so much it closed her eyes to avoid crying. “I love you, you know? You look so good! I…” Flux cut herself off with a discomforted gurgle as her head reared back, her lips pursing as her tanks suddenly rebelled. After wrestling them under control, she went back to speaking. “It’s so good t’see you!”

 

“God, you are absolutely plastered,” Havoc muttered, and grabbed Flux by the arm. “C’mon, you big lug. Come with me.”

 

“Party’s not over,” Flux slurred, stumbling after Havoc. She just couldn’t keep her balance, and Havoc practically had to support her. “Havoc… the party’s not over!”

 

“Do you even want to be here?” Havoc countered, gently leading her out. Flux paused, emotions welling up as she teared up again.

 

“No,” she sniffled, and Havoc sped up the pace a little to make it out before Flux burst into tears. “No, I don’t!”

 

Havoc hauled her out as she started to sniffle, weeping to herself pitifully. They made it to the hallway, and miraculously made it back to Flux’s room, where she slid against the wall and started crying, face in her hands. Havoc awkwardly patted her shoulder.

 

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” Flux wailed, “Why do I keep allowing myself to get railroaded by him?”

 

Havoc didn’t say anything, but the hand that kept smoothing over Flux’s shoulder was doing wonders. 

  
  


\---------------------------

  
  


Gadget sat behind the defendant’s desk, watching Aberhalde clear their throat. The prosecutor walked up to them. “And could you describe the scene when you arrived?”

 

Aberhalde swallowed, fingers twiddling, and they started to speak. The room was wide, the lights too bright. The judge’s seat was high up at the front of the room, Aberhalde sitting in a lower seat to the right. There was another, empty one, to the left. “I was called to a code gray in room 113,” they said, “and when I got there, the patient was hemorrhaging badly. I attempted heroic measures, but he was already dead.”

 

“What was your  _ exact _ diagnosis?”

 

“My  _ exact _ diagnosis was severe cranial hemorrhaging,” Aberhalde answered, and Gadget’s defense attorney frowned. Apparently, something was off, but Gadget was confused. Aberhalde was correct, that was their diagnosis. Aberhalde had sworn to tell the truth, why was her attorney frowning? “Gadget -- er, the defendant -- literally  _ melted his brain.” _

 

The jury whispered amongst themselves, and the gavel banged once, quieting them. Gadget’s spark dropped. So… that was why. It sounded really bad when it was put like that -- it sounded purposeful. The prosecutor continued. “Would that have been painful, Doctor Aberhalde?”

 

“He would have died in agony. All of his nerve endings would be going haywire at the lack of a command center to send their stimuli and it would have felt as if his whole body was melting down in a furnace,” Aberhalde answered firmly, and Gadget’s attorney stood up, nearly overturning his chair. He seemed -- he seemed panicked. In turn, Gadget’s sparkbeat picked up. 

 

“Your Honor, a recess please?” Her attorney almost-begged.

 

“Granted,” the judge said, looking with distaste at Gadget. “You need one.”

 

Gadget got up, as her attorney practically dragged her into a side room. The air felt cold, and her attorney seemed even more agitated.

 

“WHAT HAPPENED?” She demanded, “I THOUGHT ABERHALDE WAS TESTIFYING FOR ME?”

 

“It seems the prosecution’s flipped them,” her attorney answered, “I’m going to reach out and see if that deal’s still in play.”

 

“DEAL? YOU DON’T THINK I CAN WIN ANYMORE?”

 

“You saw the jury,” her attorney said, “When it was Aberhalde and Cephalon, you might have had a good chance. But now, they can’t wait to throw you behind bars. Or give you the triple tap. Whichever they’re allowed to do.”

 

Gadget half-fell, half-sat down in the chair in the corner of the room, the bailiff at the door surveying everything coldly. Seconds later, the prosecution walked in, the prosecuting attorney smug and puffed-up.

 

“So you’re thinking about that deal now, Gadget?”

 

Gadget looked at her defense lawyer, and he nodded, eyes urgent. So she looked back to the prosecutor. “UH. YEAH. YEAH. I’M GOING TO TAKE IT.”

 

“Then I need your signature, and I’ll put in the paperwork right now. You’ll also have to plead out guilty in court.”

 

Gadget looked at her defense attorney again as the prosecutor slid the datapad her way. This couldn’t be real. It felt fake and far away. But her defense lawyer just nodded again, with more fervor. “Take it,” he urged, “you’re not going to get another chance.”

 

She signed the datapad, and pushed it back over. “SO I CHANGE MY PLEA WHEN I GO BACK IN?”

 

“Yes. You won’t even have to allocute. Jury’s already ready to convict, if we’re both being honest.”

 

Gadget zoned out, feeling like everything was underwater. All too soon, the recess was over, and she tottered back to stand behind the desk, the judge looking her way. “I understand you’d like to change your plea?”

 

“Yes, Your Honor,” her attorney said, “we wish to plead guilty to all charges.”

 

The judge looked at the prosecution. “Do you agree with this?”

 

“We do, and we have worked out a deal declaring such,” he said, and approached the bench with Gadget’s signed agreement. This was all happening so fast.

 

The judge read it over, humming, and put it down. “Very well. Gadget of Carthex, you have pled guilty to all charges. In accordance with the deal you have struck with the prosecution, you are recommended to be sentenced to five hundred thousand years in a supermax prison. I agree with this sentencing recommendation. Therefore, I sentence you to five hundred thousand years in Garrus-9, without possibility of parole. Jury, you are dismissed. Autobot High Command thanks you for your service.”

 

And with the bang of a gavel, Gadget’s life as she knew it was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now what? What do y'all think is going to happen to Gadget?


	19. A Bit of a Necktie Party, Isn't It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron has fallen! Starscream now leads the Decepticons!
> 
> in other news, Gadget is bussed to Garrus-9 to begin serving her sentence, and things go alright for a little while -- until they don't. Which is to say, until Overlord decides he just has to make an appearance. luckily for our hero, Gadget gets wind of this in advance and decides to take herself -- and a friend she's made -- to another prison to make a hasty escape. However, when they arrive, things just get worse and worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers:**
> 
> **negative stereotyping from prison guards around mental health/making fun of mental health after "the stagnation started to bother her after a couple of weeks..." and ending near "FINE, WHY DO YOU CARE?"**
> 
> **major character death and graphic violence, starting after "i suppose you can be that way in solitary." and continuing until the last line of the chapter. skip to the endnotes for what you missed if you decide to pass on it!**
> 
> **(i decided to give context instead of line numbers because it might work better for people who have different screens? let me know if you'd rather have line numbers and i'll go back and change the ones that aren't lines.)**
> 
> **if you need anything else tagged, let me know!**

Flux frowned as her comms suite lit up with a ping from Starscream. She pulled him up on the bridge’s main holoscreen. “Starscream? What’s going on?” She squinted behind him. It didn’t look like the Nemesis. “Where even are you?”

 

“Long story,” Starscream said, harried. Squabbling sounded in the background. “Very long story. Megatron’s gone. I lead the Decepticons now.”

 

**_“What?”_ ** Flux cried, sitting bolt upright. “What  _ happened?” _

 

“I can’t tell you the whole story,” Starscream snapped, “You’re needed back here.  We’re painfully low on supplies. Gather as many as you can get on your way back and get back here now. Soundwave is going to forward you coordinates.”

  
  


\---------------------------------

  
  


When Gadget was shuffled off of the prison bus in cuffs, and escorted into Garrus-9 on Elba, she couldn’t help but feel as if her life was already over. In here, there would be no refuge from herself -- she couldn’t scurry away to hide, or keep anything to herself. Her mental health had taken a plummet. All she could think about was how Capacitor had finally managed to get her out of the way -- or how Aberhalde, someone she trusted, had turned on her like that, with such disgust in their eyes. Like Gadget had murdered on purpose.

 

She wanted to purge -- she shook herself out instead, plating flaring a bit to dump heat, and allowed herself to be marched in and put in a lineup. There were only about a double dozen new inmates. After all, Garrus-9 was a maximum security prison, where people like  _ Impactor _ were kept. Impactor, Arcee, Grimlock -- and now Gadget too, apparently. The reality hadn’t quite set in yet. 

 

The room they were lined up in, shoulder to shoulder, was brightly lit, and Gadget pulled up observable stats on her HUD to calm down. To give herself something to comb through. Room was at eighty-five percent illumination, with 30 percent humidity. The door opened, and the massive bot that came through scanned in her systems. She perused the accessible face database, and a match pinged her. Fortress Maximus, warden of Garrus-9. As he began speaking, she cracked the metaphorical door to his records, taking a little peek. It was illegal, but she had to know if she could at least trust him long enough to take her sight off of him to sleep. He had a decent record. He was a strict warden, but at first glance, it didn’t seem as if he was particularly unfair. He probably was, however -- these types of bots always were. But, for now, Gadget was satisfied. She kept reading. He’d had a minor disciplinary incident where he’d lost his temper and handled an inmate a shred too roughly. 

 

She took a peek at those reports, closing the other door quietly and gently cracking the other one. Statement from the inmate wasn’t too damning -- no injury had even been mentioned. Reports from subordinates testified to Max’s temper. It was slow to rile, as his firm but fair hand was mentioned again -- but it was still there. Gadget would just have to watch out for him then, out of the corner of her eye.

 

Fort Max was idly strolling in front of the lineup, reading off of a datapad. “...ath of Yuss, Blockaide of Iacon, Gearmap of Pess Pess, and Gadget of Carthex.” He came to a stop, towering over the visored empuratee as she stared up at him. He seemed to know something, and for a moment Gadget was very concerned that he knew she was looking into him. She very gently, and very slowly, eased the virtual door shut, and clamped her plating close to her body. Fort Max let his optics linger a little longer, before tearing them away and back to the datapad. He started to move away, and paused. “Welcome to Garrus-9,” he said evenly. “You all will be here until you have finished your allotted sentencing -- that’s a fact. I’ll say right now, don’t try to escape. It’s pointless. We have excellent guards and they are authorized to shoot to kill, situation requiring.”

 

Gadget cracked that door open. It was true. She closed it, and then after a moment of hesitation, opened it again. “Situation requiring” was a vague condition, ripe with possibilities for abuse. But as she perused records, she found nothing egregiously out of line. Of course, they’d most likely cooked the books -- Gadget wasn’t stupid. She closed the port, unwilling to leave an open patch of code for too long. It was catchable. So she closed the code, and tuned back in to Fort Max’s greeting.

 

“...ark containment for those of you who have confessed or are an extreme threat. All others will be escorted to your cells. Are there any questions for me?”

 

Gadget tilted her helm. Why would a warden ask that? That was the kind of thing that people who cared for their charges asked. Someone raised their hand and asked about medical maintenance, as they apparently had a faulty t-cog that acted up frequently. Fort Max assured them that they would be treated, and looked around. “Anything else?”

 

He seemed to get a comm, and looked around the room again. His eyes caught on Gadget, and flicked away after a tense moment. Gadget’s plating clamped tighter. He knew. “Alright. Guards, escort inmates to their cells. Gearmap of Pess Pess is to be taken to spark containment. Gadget of Carthex is to be taken into the other room.”

 

Gadget’s tanks flipped, and she glanced back and forth between the two guards hounding her into the room, screen fuzzing static. They nudged her in, and she surveyed the room. It had a table and two chairs across from each other, like an interrogation room, and she didn’t sit down until one of the guards put a hand on her shoulder. She sat, patiently, as her tanks grew tighter and tighter until they felt like they were going to shatter from the tension.

 

She jumped, nearly out of her own plating, as Fort Max opened the door, datapad in hand. “Gadget of Carthex,” he read off. “Convicted of killing an unarmed prisoner of war, sentenced to half a million years. It says here you took a plea deal.” He looked up from the datapad and locked gazes with Gadget, whose plating was so tight to her body it hurt. It made her look very small and very non-threatening. Fort Max looked down, and put the datapad on the table before he approached close enough to sit down. He waved the guards out, bidding them to cover the door, and Gadget was very sure she was about to be murdered. “And, you were stationed at Tebba Base, working in the science division with computer code and malware?”

 

“IT’S PUBLIC RECORD. WHY?”

 

“Well, you see, I have a problem. Just a couple of minutes ago, security detected a breach in the filing system. Someone took cursory peeks at information pertaining to myself and this facility, and you might understand why I would be concerned with someone such as yourself having just come in.”

 

Gadget’s screen fuzzed static. “I. DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT.”

 

Fort Max seemed to receive another comm, and he picked up the datapad, displaying it to her. On it was the code she had used to prop open the virtual doors, and on a split screen, was an earlier project of hers. “Do these look familiar to you, Gadget?”

 

“THE LEFT ONE IS MY CODE,” Gadget droned, screen fuzzing static in a panic. The warden hummed his agreement, tapping the tag in the bottom left corner. It read as Gadget’s, with a timestamp. Then, he tapped the right bottom corner. It read as Gadget’s, with a timestamp from a few minutes ago. 

 

“Because, see, these two are registering as the same. They have the same hallmarks as your code on the left. Which leads me to believe that you’ve hacked into our filing system, Gadget.”

 

Gadget’s spark pounded in her casing. How the fuck had they caught on so quickly -- that code was meant to eat itself as soon as it was typed and used! “I -- I DON’T -- I DIDN’T --”

 

Fort Max held up a hand. “Gadget, please. If you tell me why, I might decide to be lenient. This behavior is unusual, which leads me to believe there might be a problem that needs to be addressed. While it’s true that I am your warden and  _ under no circumstances _ your friend, I have a duty of care towards you. If you have a problem, even with me, I must do my best to fix it.”

 

Gadget beeped. “I’M NOT STUPID.”

 

Fort Max crossed his arms. “You have my word on my spark that if you divulge the reason, I will try to help you rather than discipline you. It says on your file that you were diagnosed with paranoia as part of the trial’s psychological evaluation -- are there any anxieties you might be feeling?”

 

Gadget scrunched in on herself. Fort Max held her gaze a little longer, and sighed. “Alright, then. I’m placing you in spark containment. Having someone who can hack our computer systems is an inherent threat.”

 

He went to knock on the door for the guards, and Gadget jumped to her feet. “WAIT. WAIT. I DON’T CONSENT. YOU NEED MY CONSENT IF I’M NOT A THREAT LEVEL NINE. I’LL TELL YOU. JUST ANYTHING BUT SPARK CONTAINMENT. YOU COULD TAMPER WITH MY PROCESSOR.”

 

“We don’t do that here,” Fort Max said, coming away from the door. “That’s illegal.”

 

Gadget tilted her helm. “LAWS CAN BE BENT. RECORDS CAN BE DISCREETLY DESTROYED OR MYSTERIOUSLY NOT TAKEN.”

 

“Tell me why you hacked our systems,” Fort Max commanded, trying to steer her back on track. Gadget hesitated, shuffling foot-to-foot in indecision. The warden raised his fist to the door again, brow going up, and Gadget beeped, extending a claw.

 

“WAIT. WAIT. I HACKED INTO THE SYSTEMS SO I COULD DECIDE FOR MYSELF WHETHER OR NOT TO TRUST YOU. I LOOKED TO SEE IF THE AUTHORIZATION TO KILL WAS TRUE, AND HOW THAT COULD BE INTERPRETED. I HAD TO KNOW IF IT WAS FEAR-MONGERING. I HAD TO KNOW IF I COULD SLEEP AT NIGHT. I COULDN’T NOT KNOW. I CAN’T EVER NOT KNOW.”

 

Fort Max nodded attentively, coming away from the door, and Gadget sagged with relief. “I see. How much did you look through?”

 

“YOUR RECORD. THE DISCIPLINARY INCIDENT YOU WERE INVOLVED IN. THE STATEMENTS AND REPORTS. I ALSO LOOKED INTO THE GUARDS’ RECORDS BRIEFLY AND THE PRISON’S RECORDS.”

 

“I’m almost impressed,” Fort Max half lauded. “And now it’s my turn for a show of good faith. True to my word, you won’t be disciplined. But if this happens again, I  _ can _ file to overrule your consent for spark containment, and I  _ will. _ I will not have this prison fall to shambles under my care, do you understand?”

 

Gadget nodded. “SO WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO ME?”

 

“Nothing,” Fort Max answered, and Gadget tilted her helm. 

 

“YOU’RE LYING TO ME.”

 

“You will be taken to your cell and given your nightly ration, and the guard will update you on the prison’s schedule. I will also see you again tomorrow, to see if we can alleviate these trust issues somehow. Does that sound agreeable?”

 

Gadget nodded, very suspiciously. “I STILL THINK YOU’RE LYING.”

 

“I think you’ll find I’m more transparent than you’re giving me credit for,” Fort Max countered, and knocked on the door. “Welcome to Garrus-9, Gadget of Carthex. You’re going to be here awhile.”

 

Later on, Gadget would tell people who asked that the time she spent in Garrus-9 was one of the most unexpectedly peaceful times of her life. She stayed in her cell, went out into the yard when she was allowed, and ate her rations on a strict schedule. It allowed her to stop obsessing over every tiny detail. At first, she found herself de-stressing. It was nice. She didn’t have to deal with Capacitor, or High Command saying  _ do this _ or  _ interrogate that _ . She could just focus on waiting out her sentence and having some time to herself. The schedule was soothing.

 

The stagnation started to bother her after a couple of weeks. She itched for a computer terminal, and settled for coding things in her own head. The guards kept her on edge, one last barrier in the way of complacency. Gadget didn’t trust authority in the slightest. She knew as well as any other reasonable person that people in power couldn’t be trusted. This wasn’t helped when one of the guards took to calling her “Batshit” exclusively as a name, and it caught on. Soon, everyone on her prison block was calling her Batshit. It even managed to leak its way into the yard. Gadget found this out the hard way as she was minding her own business, seated in the corner to soak up some of Elba’s sunlight in solitude.

 

A massive tank sat down next to her, and nudged her with their elbow. She jumped nearly a mile high, beeping in alarm. Said possible aggressor put their hands up to placate, and a decepticon badge blazed on their chest. “Hey, sorry! You’ve just been by yourself since you got here, looks like. I’m Chermiin. Your name’s… er, Batshit, right?”

 

Gadget beeped in annoyance. “IT’S GADGET. BATSHIT IS JUST MY NICKNAME.”

 

“Oh.” Chermiin smiled sheepishly, her hand coming to rest at the back of her neck. “So, what are you in for?”

 

“I WAS FRAMED FOR KILLING A PRISONER,” Gadget deadpanned. “WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?”

 

“Dunno, thought you might want a friend. Why’s your nickname Batshit, if I might ask?”

 

“I HAVE PARANOID PERSONALITY DISORDER. A GUARD THOUGHT THAT WAS FUNNY.”

 

“Mm.” Chermiin nodded sympathetically. “Most of the guards are pretty okay, but there are a couple bad ones. How’ve you been adjusting?”

 

“FINE. WHY DO YOU CARE?”

 

“I’ve been here a while. It doesn’t do to fight all the time, I’ve found.”

 

“MM. HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?”

 

“I was captured a couple million years ago,” Chermiin recounted, waving a hand idly. “It’s not a big deal. It’s nice to be away from it all. Don’t you agree?”

 

Gadget shrugged, bouncing one leg. “CAN’T RELAX. BUT SO FAR IT SEEMS ALRIGHT.”

 

“Mhm, mhm. Fort Max is a pretty good warden. I’ve never seen him do anything awful. Lemme know if there’s anything you need, alright? Being here a long time has its perks.”

 

Gadget eyed the tank out of the edge of her visor. “WHAT DO YOU WANT IN RETURN?”

 

“Not much, really. I’m just here to wait out my sentence and live in peace. Maybe that’s not very Decepticon of me, but… with the way things I hear are going, maybe that’s a good thing.”

 

Gadget shrugged. “THANKS FOR THE OFFER.”

 

“Sure.” Chermiin got up and left, walking over to the other side of the yard. Gadget was left alone, until end of yard time was announced and inmates were escorted back to their cells. 

 

Gadget’s cell wasn’t very big. It had a bed, and that was it. They were solitary cells, with barred doors so inmates weren’t completely isolated. She spent most of her time in activities, allowing herself to try and slip into compliance, but she couldn’t do it. It nagged at her. Something was going to go wrong. Something bad was going to happen. 

 

She started scanning communications frequencies. Just to be safe, she avoided the prison’s frequency, so they couldn’t nail her for hacking again. The threat of spark containment seemed to loom constantly at the back of her mind, doing quite a lot to keep her in line. The challenge of decrypting the coded transmissions took her mind off it. It was all routine, really, on both sides. Shipments being made, battles being planned. Gadget would pick a particularly soothing broadcast to decrypt and fall asleep listening to when she felt stressed.

 

Then she came across unusual Decepticon chatter. Apparently, Megatron was sending a group to try and take the prison. Cute. They were tough, sure, but Garrus-9 was maximum security, designed to keep people like  _ Impactor _ in. People had tried to take the prison while she was here, even though she’d only been here a short while. Fortress Maximus had driven them all away. She kept an eye on that transmission and went about her business, falling into routine. It did become peaceful, for a little while. If this was how prison was going to go, it wouldn’t be that bad for half a million years. 

 

Then she found a transmission that made her sit bolt upright in bed and nearly scream. Overlord was intercepting the mission to take the prison.  _ Overlord. _ A Phase Sixer. Fort Max was good --  _ Garrus-9 _ was good -- but nobody was  _ that good. _

 

Footsteps sounded down the hall as Jackpot made his nightly round of Gadget’s block. In a rush, she threw off her blanket and staggered to the front of her cell, pressing herself to the bars and reaching out with her left arm, panicky. Jackpot ignored her -- in persistence, she extended her datacable and caught Jackpot’s hand gently. “HEY. HEY. HEY FUCKO.”

 

Jackpot yanked his hand away and rounded on her. “Listen, Batshit. If you’re trying to escape, save it.”

 

“I DON’T HAVE TIME TO EXPLAIN,” Gadget demanded. “OVERLORD’S COMING. HE’S GOING TO TAKE OVER THE-”

 

Jackpot burst into laughter, as did several other inmates on the block. The titters and guffaws burned her audials and her spark in acid, and she started to shake. She didn’t know if it was from anger or anxiety. “How in the fuck would you know that? Get real. Come back when you’ve got something entertaining to dupe me with. Lights out, everyone.” He kept walking down the hall, and Gadget sagged and returned to her berth. 

 

The next morning, in the yard, Gadget was nearly vibrating with nervous energy. As had become the usual, Chermiin sat down next to her, and her faceplates pulled into concern. “Everything alright, Gadget?”

 

“NO.” Gadget countered, hugging herself. “WORD OF ADVICE. DON’T EVER GET BRANDED AS CRAZY. NOBODY WILL LISTEN TO YOU.”

 

“Mm,” Chermiin hummed in sympathy. “What’s the matter?”

 

Gadget eyed the tank. Chermiin was a Decepticon, and tipping her off about Overlord could backfire horribly. “SOMETIMES. I SURF TRANSMISSIONS. BECAUSE I HAVE A COMPULSION TO KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON.”

 

“Okay,” Chermiin led, with clear ‘go on’, in her voice.

 

“AND LAST NIGHT, I HEARD SOMETHING.”

 

“Well? Don’t keep me on tenterhooks, Gadget!” Chermiin beamed, probably thinking this was all in a bit of fun. Gadget vented shakily, and glanced over. 

 

“OVERLORD INTERCEPTED A MISSION TO OVERTAKE THIS PRISON. I DIDN’T GET ALL THE DETAILS, BUT I DON’T THINK IT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. IT’S. IT’S NOT SANCTIONED. AND I DON’T KNOW WHEN HE’S SUPPOSED TO ARRIVE, BUT IT’S DEFINITELY SOON. I TRIED TO TELL JACKPOT. HE LAUGHED IT OFF.”

 

Chermiin's face fell immediately, smile dropping. “Overlord? You’re sure?”

 

“YEAH.”

 

Chermiin sat back and took that in, brows furrowed in thought. “Holy hell. What’s he doing that for?”

 

“ATTENTION, I THINK. FROM WHAT I HEARD, HE WANTS MEGATRON TO TAKE NOTICE. SO. IF THEY WON’T LISTEN TO ME, I’LL JUST GET MYSELF TRANSFERRED.”

 

“To where? The only regularly scheduled buses go to higher security prisons. The soonest one goes to Garrus-10.”

 

“CONSIDER THIS. GARRUS-10, OR OVERLORD?”

 

Chermiin conceded that, her mouth shrugging in acquiescence. “Point taken.”

 

“YOU DON’T WANT TO STAY BEHIND? HE’D PROBABLY SPRING YOU.”

 

“I just want to live out my life in peace, by now,” Chermiin sighed. “Doesn’t really matter if it’s on the outside or the inside. And Overlord doesn’t bring peace. Is there any way we can get ourselves to Garrus-10? If he’s coming as quickly as you say he is, we need to be on the next bus out.”

 

Gadget tilted her helm. She’d suddenly found herself with a co-conspirator. “TOMORROW, LOOK AROUND FOR ANY WALL TERMINALS OUTSIDE. I CAN PROBABLY FINESSE MY WAY INTO THE MAINFRAME. I CAN SCHEDULE MYSELF FOR A TRANSFER. I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN MANAGE TWO OF US WITHOUT GETTING SUSPICIONS RISEN.”

 

“Especially since I’ve had a history of good behavior,” Chermiin mused. “I’ll need to start causing a little trouble. They have no reason to transfer me right now, especially not to Garrus-10.”

 

“WHAT’S UP WITH G-10?”

 

“It’s got a bad reputation. It’s got even worse customers than this place, and they practice solitary confinement rather than spark confinement. It’s not a good place to go -- but you’re right. It’s better than Overlord.”

 

Gadget kept an eye on the guards while Chermiin ambled around the yard, looking, for all intents and purposes, bored out of her mind. It didn’t draw attention. The day after that, Chermiin wandered her way over to Gadget, who was in her usual spot. “Hey. There’s a terminal you can plug into on the east wall, but there’s a guard stationed by it. Can you hack into the yard’s security cameras and, I dunno, do what you do?’

  
  


“I’D LOOP THE FEED, BUT THIS PLACE IS TOO CROWDED. WE’VE GOT TO BE QUICK ABOUT IT. AND WE CAN’T LET THE TAMPERING SIMMER FOR TOO LONG. THEY’LL CATCH IT.”

 

“Catch it? How so?”

 

“THEY’VE EARMARKED MY CODE. IF I SO MUCH AS SNEEZE AT THIS FACILITY’S FILES, THEY’LL NAIL MY ASS TO THE WALL AND PUT ME IN SPARK CONTAINMENT. WHICH, NORMALLY I’D JUST BE WORRIED THEY’D FUCK WITH MY PROCESSOR WHILE I WAS DISASSEMBLED, BUT WITH OVERLORD COMING…”

 

“God, that’s a death sentence, you’re right. We’ve gotta help those other bots in containment. Maybe... we could try to get a meeting with the warden?”

 

“IT’S NOT GOING TO WORK. NOBODY CARES.”

 

“Fort Max would.”

 

Gadget thought on that, silently. During her time at G-9, Fortress Maximus had never slighted her once. He had done everything in his power to accommodate her while still keeping their roles professional and healthy, and Gadget had to admit in spite of herself that she liked him. She had to admit -- and she couldn’t believe she was saying this -- she almost trusted him.

 

Almost was as close as she was going to get. “I’LL TRY AND MEET WITH HIM. BUT WE KEEP THE PACE. IF WE CAN’T GET TO HIM BY THE TIME THE BUS COMES, WE’RE JUMPING SHIP ANYWAYS. OTHERWISE, WE DIE WITH EVERYONE ELSE.”

 

“Mhm. How are you going to get past the tracking on your code?”

 

“I’LL JUST HAVE TO START FROM SCRATCH,” Gadget mused grimly. “MAKE NEW CODE. FROM THE GROUND UP.”

 

“In a week?”

 

“I’VE DONE IT BEFORE. IT WASN’T EASY, AND I HAD A COMPUTER TO PLUG INTO. BUT I DID IT. IT’LL PROBABLY BE UGLY AND CLUNKY, BUT I CAN MANAGE IT. START CAUSING MINOR TROUBLE. I’LL START A LITTLE ON MY END, TOO. THE DAY BEFORE THE BUS COMES, I’M GOING TO BE BY THAT TERMINAL ON THE EAST WALL, AND I NEED YOU TO BE HERE SO YOU CAN MAKE SURE I DON’T GET NOTICED.”

 

“Like a distraction?”

 

“YEAH.”

 

Gadget, that night, flagged a guard down and asked to speak with Fort Max. The guard eyed her up and down for a moment. “I mean, sure thing, Bats, but it’ll take a few days. He’s a busy mech, having to watch all of you freaks.”

 

“CUTE. I’M SERIOUS.”

 

“So am I. Cool your heels. You’ll get your meeting.”

 

“WHEN?”

 

“When I say so, Batshit. What’s this a bid for, a crack at our computers?”

 

“I HAVE TO KNOW,” Gadget insisted, claws grasping the bars. “I LIKE SCHEDULES. I LIKE CLEAR-CUT THINGS.”

 

“Fine. I’ll let you know when I schedule it.” And the guard walked away, shouting “lights out!” over his shoulder. Gadget retired to her bed, lay back, and got to work coding in the privacy of her own helm.

 

Five days and several violations later, Gadget was roughly shoved into the yard, Chermiin shoved out a few minutes later. The tank made her way over. “Hope this whole thing is worth it,” she joked. “They took away my radio.”

 

“YOU’LL LIVE,” Gadget deadpanned. “HOW’D IT GO?”

 

“I have been threatened with transfer to Garrus-10,” Chermiin touted proudly. “You?”

 

“SAME. THAT’S GOOD.” Gadget nodded, businesslike, and nearly jumped at Chermiin’s hand on her shoulder. 

 

“You can do this,” the tank encouraged gently. Gadget’s spark fluttered, and one claw drifted to rest over Chermiin’s hand. 

 

“YOU. THINK. SO?”

 

“I know so. How’s the code coming?”

 

“GOOD. IT’S NOT ELEGANT BY ANY STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION, BUT IT’LL DO ITS JOB. I DISTANCED IT FROM EVERY HALLMARK. IF THEY’VE GOT THIS ONE MAPPED OUT, MY THEORY ABOUT SURVEILLANCE STATES MIGHT HAVE MORE MERIT. IT’S ALL INTERNAL. I’M PLUGGING IT IN TOMORROW. FOR IT TO LOAD ALL THE WAY, I NEED TO STAY PLUGGED IN FOR A MINIMUM OF TEN SECONDS. CAN YOU KEEP EVERYONE DISTRACTED FOR THAT LONG?”

 

“Yeah. There’s a security camera watching the terminal, though. But I can take care of that.”

 

“DON’T MAKE IT LOOK SUSPICIOUS. I CAN SIGNAL JAM THE CAMERAS FOR THE TIME IT TAKES ME TO GET OVER TO THAT LITTLE ALCOVE, SO YOU ONLY HAVE TO THINK ABOUT THE CAMERA AIMED AT THE TERMINAL.” 

 

“Trust me, I’ve got it covered.” Chermiin let her hand drop, and smiled -- was that fondness? “You know, you’re really smart. I, um…” the tank looked away, throat working. “I’m glad to be doing this with you, circumstances aside. It’s been fun. Just the right amount of excitement.”

 

“IT’S NOT A GAME,” Gadget said, gravely, and Chermiin shook her head. 

 

“Oh, god no! No, no, I was trying to -- um, never mind. Anyways, don’t worry about that camera, and don’t worry about those ten seconds. I’ll have you covered.”

 

“THANK YOU.” Gadget reached out to pat Chermiin’s hand, as other inmates milled around in the yard. 

 

Chermiin kept her word, as the sixth day droned on. They were let out into the yard, Gadget taking her usual seat, and Chermiin putzing around. Her wanderings took her over to the security camera watching the terminal, and she whistled a tune idly.

 

Then, she reached up, standing on her tiptoes, and ripped it off the wall. As one of the guards shouted for her to stop, she walked over to some Autobot bragging about how many Cons he’d killed in Simanzi, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Red Peril. Smile for the camera, why don’t you?”

 

When he turned around to ask her what the fuck she meant, she camera-whipped him across the face, using the camera as a weapon to keep hitting him. She carefully avoided any delicate damageable spots, not intending to cause real harm. Gadget slipped over to the terminal while all were distracted, other inmates crowding around the fight and cheering. The guards had to wrestle their way into the sea of bots, and wouldn’t make it back out for a while. Ah, it was nice to have a lackey.

 

Gadget plugged into the terminal and breathed a sigh of relief. It was so nice to be hooked into a system again. She didn’t feel quite so lonely. She pulled up her package of dirty-bomb code, and uploaded it into the system. It would give the prison’s filing, security and maintenance systems a host of small, annoying viruses (mostly popups) that would distract from the real target. She had changed her own file, and Chermiin’s file, to put them down for the next transfer out. By the time the officials caught the change, she and Chermiin would be nestled safely in Garrus-10, free to not make any waves there.

 

Gadget finished the upload and separated from the terminal, striding back over to her seat at the side table. After everything was calmed down, Chermiin was hauled away with the guard incredulously speculating just what had gotten into her.

 

“Pull up security feeds from the incident,” Fort Max demanded, rubbing his chinpiece between his index finger and his thumb, frowning. Something funny was going on, and he didn’t like it a bit. The security monitor typed in a few things, and cried out in disgust as a few popups littered the screen. 

 

“I swear to god, I’ve got to talk to Tram about watching stuff that gives you viruses on these monitors. It’s a security issue!”

 

“We can take care of that later,” Max dismissed. “I’ve got a feeling something bigger is going on.”

 

“Mhm. Starts out pretty normal. Gadget files in there, sits down where she usually does. Oh, there comes Chermiin. This is where it starts to get messy. See, she walks around for a little bit,” The bot narrated, his finger denoting Chermiin’s path and following her around. “And she makes her way over to camera 13, and…”

 

“Rips it off the wall? For what?”

 

“For a weapon,” The security monitor deadpanned. “I know, I didn’t believe it either. Wild, huh? Crazy what these bastards will do. Swear to god, they’re like wild animals.”

 

Fort Max leaned closer and surveyed the multiple tapes, all playing at the same time, on the monitors. “There, camera 6. Where’s Gadget?”

 

“We think she joined the fray. She and Chermiin have been close in the yard.”

 

“And Chermiin takes out camera 13, overlooking the computer terminal? No, I don’t like this. Get Chermiin to an interrogation room now, I want to question her.”

 

“Well, I would, but they’ve got her in overnight solitary. The only way you can override that is if she’s in imminent danger of hurting herself or getting hurt.”

 

“Damn. It’ll have to wait for tomorrow afternoon, I’ve got something with the Garrus-10 buses that morning. But I want Chermiin and Gadget watched. Something’s going on with those two.”

 

“Got it, sir. What do you think is going on?”

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

“You don’t think Gadget got into the computer systems, do you? None of the alarms recognized her code.”

 

“Gadget didn’t get to be top name in computer science by being predictable,” Fortress Maximus countered, staring down the empty bench where Gadget had spent so much yard time. “I’d bet my guns she’s up to something, and we’re just getting led around in circles.”

 

“Then why don’t you go interrogate her, first?”

 

“If she’s got something in our systems, the last thing I want to do is spook her. Who knows what she’d detonate. She’ll fold once I can contradict her story with direct evidence, but until then, I’m staying clear of her. I’m staying up tonight to review this footage. You can go get some rest for the night. Thanks.”

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


That morning, Jackpot wrenched open Gadget’s door. “Good news, Batshit. You’re getting shipped out. Garrus-10-bound! They can probably whip you into shape.”

 

Gadget got up, and vented. “DON’T CALL ME BATSHIT.”

 

“C’mon, it’s just a bit of fun.”

 

Gadget walked over, and clocked him once. It felt good, even as she was wrestled into cuffs and shackles and shuffled onto the grimy prison bus headed to Garrus-10. As she looked out the window at Garrus-9, she admitted to herself that she’d miss the place.

 

At least she’d have Chermiin. The tank was shuffled on a few minutes later, apparently having gone peacefully, and seated in the back. Gadget was near the front, and after all other transfers were on, Gadget watched a new shipment of Garrus Niners walk through the front doors and into the facility. The bus started up, and took off, taking them to a shuttle. They were loaded onto a shuttle and taken off the planet Elba, and away from Garrus-9 -- away from impending Overlord.

 

They were shuffled off the bus, and with a little bit of panic Gadget realized that she was all the way in the front of the line and Chermiin was in the back. After a bit of quick thinking, she snagged her pedetip on the ground and went down, squirming undignifiedly in the dirt. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, meaning she had to wriggle to get her knees up under herself. It waved her ass around in the air, and one of the prisoners whistled. Another hip-checked her as he passed, knocking her back over. It caused a ripple of laughter to go down the line, and Gadget’s whole frame burned with shame. Footsteps shuffled to a stop behind her and she managed to get up, dirt and mud smeared over her front and side. Chermiin smiled at her, encouragingly and sadly, and the guard at the end of the line hollered for them to keep moving. 

 

“C’mon,” Chermiin murmured. “You’re okay. Let’s go, huh? With any luck, we’ll get this over with quickly.”

 

They filed into the room, just like Garrus-9, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder just like before. Guards stood by the door, and it opened to reveal a confident, young-seeming mech with big green optics. He would have appeared nice-looking if not for the ugly sneer on his face. He launched right into a lecture.

 

“I am Thinstreak of Vos, and this is Garrus-10. You’re here because the best of the best couldn’t handle you -- and that is about to change. You’re all about to hear the word  _ no _ for the first time -- and I have a zero tolerance policy for  _ shenanigans _ .” 

 

His cruel eyes swept over the lined-up prisoners, checking every badge. “Especially when  _ Decepticons _ are involved. You step one inch out of line, and I’ll personally wreck you so badly you’ll forget your own name.”

 

Chermiin swallowed, and subtly reached for Gadget’s claw. Gadget slowly reached out to grasp it behind her back, releasing her datacable to get the right angle. It grasped one of Chermiin’s fingers securely, and squeezed a little. The tank seemed to relax, but only marginally. Thinstreak kept speaking, his wingtips embellishing his elbows like fins. “You ugly bastards are going to be the sorriest pieces of tailpipe this side of the universe by the time this place is done with you -- and if you aren’t the sorriest, you’ll absolutely be the sorest. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Mumbles greeted him. Thinkstreak held a hand to his audial. “Sorry, what was that? The correct response is, ‘Yes, Warden, Sir’.”

 

“Yes, Warden, Sir,” Chermiin repeated with the rest of the group, and Gadget stayed silent, squeezing her finger again. Thinstreak’s eyes alighted on the pair of them, and narrowed. “You two. What are you doing?”

 

“Nothing, sir.” Chermiin answered honestly, separating. Gadget let her go, retracting the datacable. Thinstreak snorted, coming closer until he was in the tank’s space. 

 

“Didn’t look like nothing. It’s never nothing with you Con bastards. What’s your name?”

 

“Chermiin of Stripangxa, sir.”

 

“Chermiin. Yes, I’ve heard about you.” His expression darkened. “And I don’t like what I’ve heard. So you tell me what you were up to, or I’ll blast your head off of your shoulders, understand? Outside rules don’t come in here.”

 

Gadget beeped in alarm. “WE WERE. JUST HOLDING HANDS.”

 

“Did I ask you?” Thinstreak snarled, rounding on her. “Did I?”

 

“NO.”

 

“No, what?”

 

“NO-” Gadget repeated, about to put something very ugly at the end of it, until Chermiin swatted her gently. Gadget cleared her vocalizer. “NO. WARDEN. SIR.”

 

“Good. What’s your name?”

 

“GADGET. OF CARTHEX.”

 

“Yes, you. Killed an unarmed prisoner of war. You’re a crafty thing, aren’t you? So, you can understand how that worries me when I see you and Chermiin of Stripangxa in close physical contact.”

 

“WE WEREN’T DOING ANYTHING,” Gadget insisted. The other prisoners just watched, happy the attention wasn’t on them.

 

“Don’t lie to me. Were you passing something off?”

 

“NO.”

 

“Fine. I suppose you can be that way in solitary. Guards! Lock her in the hole.”

 

Chermiin shifted abruptly, faceplates drawing into fear and concern. “Wait, stop! She-”

 

Years later, Gadget would tell anyone she trusted enough that what happened next was one of the worst moments of her life. For someone who had only had a grand total sum of three friends, (two if Dropthing was excluded), the events that transpired next were deeply traumatic and would haunt Gadget until her dying day.

 

Thinstreak took a blaster from his hip and blew Chermiin’s head clean off with a spatter of processor, processor fluid, and magenta energon. It squirted over Gadget’s frame, dots and deluges of fluid covering her helm and her claws, and her screen fuzzed static as she froze. The world went underwater for a moment. A stray piece of processor pinged off of her helm, but she barely responded. Chermiin’s dead frame fell to its knees, swayed like a felled tree for a moment, and, as Thinstreak got out of the way, fell forwards onto its front. It lay cold and still, its neck still steaming where her head had been. More fluid drooled and puddled onto the floor under it.

 

Thinstreak cleared his throat, nodding. “Get rid of the body and take the other one to solitary. Don’t let her out until she caves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you who skipped the graphic violence bit:
> 
> chermiin dies. thinstreak shoots her and then locks Gadget in solitary confinement, and then the chapter ends.
> 
>  
> 
> tell me what you all think! sorry this was late, i forgot i posted this as a draft to upload when i wasn't so busy lsdlskdnfls


	20. Operation Genesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gadget's prison stay is only getting grimmer, and with the arrival of a mysterious stranger to the prison, things are only getting murkier as well. On the lighter side of things, Flux continues bonding with her units.
> 
> Meanwhile, the Decepticon mad scientist Quickwit has plans to get himself off of The List -- only time will tell if it's going to work or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible triggers:**
> 
> **\- slight gore mention in the first line.**
> 
> **-abuse from prison guards and implied sexual harassment starting with "As she was dragged to the washracks..." and ending with "They threw her in and she nearly fell, stumbling."**
> 
> **-gore mention beginning after "Chermiin took out the rust stick to talk..." and ending after "Gadget woke with screaming vents..."**
> 
> **-implied sexual assault (***SCENE _NOT_ SHOWN***) starting with the line "Me? Angry? No," the warden said," and ending after that point of view changes. Skip to the line starting with "It's just a game," one of them said..." just to be extra safe! I can't stress this enough, please read responsibly!**
> 
> **That's all i can think of, but if you need something tagged please let me know!**
> 
> **(There are two other sexual assaults in this story. I have not written in any of the actual scenes because I feel that it would be voyeuristic of me to do so and I don't want to make this one of those stories. Please read carefully from this point on and do let me know if you need a more thorough tagging system for this! if you don't want to comment, please DM me on my twitter @jargoggle!)**

Gadget barely registered being carted off to solitary. Everything felt hazy and distant, unreal. Every detail except the crisp, high-resolution feeling of Chermiin’s blood and brain matter drying on her body was hazy.

 

She was thrown into a dark, walled cell with a thick, solid door. She didn’t resist the fall that caught her, and slumped right over onto her front, lying at an awkward angle that she was too exhausted to change. She had tried to transfer Chermiin and herself to keep them safe. That was why she hadn’t waited to tell Fort Max, that was why she’d allowed Chermiin to help her. Chermiin had been good to her, and now the tank was dead. Dead for seeking a little bit of comfort when she was afraid. Gadget decided then and there she’d rather spit at the warden’s feet than call him sir, and she couldn’t even spit. 

 

She wasn’t sure exactly how long she spent in that tiny, claustrophobic box. But if someone had told her that her entire sentence had passed, she wouldn’t have doubted them. Energon rations were slipped into a small lift-up slot at the bottom of the door. By the tenth ration, she was scrambling towards it like some sort of animal and cramming herself in the back corner of the cell to slip her proboscis into it and slurp it down hurriedly, spark fluttering. The inky blackness of the cell hammered at her brain, flakes of dried energon and processor fluid peeling off of her bit by bit. As she suckled the last drops out and threw the cube aside into the growing pile, she picked idly at a crackly patch on her arm. It peeled away in bendy brittle sheets, irritatingly hard to get off.

 

It took ten more rations before she cracked. She rushed the door one day, desperate to see any scrap of light, and began pounding on it, manually turning up the volume on her vocalizer to shout that she gave up, and she’d tell the warden everything.

 

That was how she found herself delicately perched in a chair in front of his desk, shaking slightly. She felt like she was going to vibrate right out of the chair and clip through the floor in front of him, a bundle of nervous and unbalanced energy. The light hurt her optic sensors, so she dimmed her visor’s feedback. Thinstreak watched her hawkishly. “Well?’

 

“CHERMIIN AND I. WERE TRYING TO PASS SOMETHING OFF.”

 

“What?” A gleam in his eye told Gadget that he didn’t believe her, and that meant she would go back in solitary. She panicked.

 

“A. CODE. WE MADE IT AT GARRUS-9. CHIROLINGUISTICS.”

 

“You don’t even have hands,” Thinstreak snapped. “Don’t con me with a crock. Do you want another twenty days in the hole?”

 

“WE THOUGHT UP ANOTHER VERSION,” Gadget begged, surging forwards a bit. The guards lurched forwards, but stopped when Thinstreak held up a hand, studying Gadget. 

 

“I see. And what did this code say?”

 

“WE WERE. FRIENDS. SO IT WASN’T. ANYTHING. HARMFUL.”

 

“What. Was it?”

 

Gadget beeped, plating rattling. “JUST. I TOLD HER THAT IT WAS GOING TO BE OKAY.”

 

“Yes, well,” Thinstreak sniffed. “I suppose you’ve learned from your mistakes. Now go wash off, you’re filthy. After the washracks, you’ll be taken to your cell.” He waved his hand at the guards. “Get this crazy thing out of my office. Liable to have a nervous breakdown right here, I don’t have time for that. Everyone’s still dealing with that Garrus-9 situation.”

 

Gadget strained against the guards, beeping. “WHAT. SITUATION?”

 

“What, you didn’t hear? Oh, right. Garrus-9 was overtaken by Overlord, a week after you transferred in. You got out just in time, it seems. Congratulations.”

 

As she was dragged to the washracks, she felt stunned, shocked. Of course, she’d known that Overlord was coming -- it was why she’d fled -- but to hear it confirmed felt surreal. Gadget was pushed into the shower and she swept the curtain closed behind her, and one of the guards ripped it back open. “Nuh-uh. You don’t get that luxury.”

 

Gadget hunched in on herself a little. It wasn’t like she was going to be baring panels to take a shower, but this still felt lewd and inappropriate. She fervently hoped Fortress Maximus was okay, and wished he were the warden of this place instead as she turned on the solvent and started to scrub with the raggedy brush. It scratched her paint a little. The solvent was cold and punishing, making her shake harder, and she could feel the two guards watching her. She washed as quickly as she could and turned the solvent off, walking with small steps back to the guards, who mechandled her dripping frame out of the washracks and down the hall, all the way to her cell. They threw her in, and she nearly fell over, stumbling. By the time she’d righted herself, they’d slammed the door shut and were walking away. 

 

She turned back to the interior of her cell, and eyed her cellmate. They were lounging in the bunk to the right, balancing a foreign metal coin on their nose. “Hi,” They greeted pleasantly. “What’s your name, sweet stuff?”

 

“FUCK OFF AND DIE.” Gadget climbed into her own berth and threw the scratchy blanket over herself, turning to face the wall. Her cellmate persisted. 

 

“My name’s Flashbang. I’m Camien. Where are you from?”

 

“NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS. I’M NOT HERE TO MAKE FRIENDS.”

 

“Mhm. Heard about what happened. It’s a shame.”

 

Gadget didn’t respond. Flashbang kept talking. “Yeah, it’s just been me for a little while, you know. Gotten a little lonely. The last cellie of mine got carted off to solitary and died there. Spark arrest.”

 

“GOOD FOR YOU.”

 

“It was,” Flashbang said, offhandedly. “He was a real bearingbreaker. You’re different though, aren’t you?” Gadget beeped in annoyance, drawing the blanket tighter over herself. She snuggled up to the wall and pretended she was snuggling into Chermiin. She hadn’t remembered being this close when Chermiin was alive, but now that the tank was gone, Gadget found herself missing her in a way she hadn’t expected.

 

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” The Camien coaxed. “It’s not so bad here, once you learn to fall in line. You can flatback for anything you want if the warden likes you enough. If not, the guards are good seconds.”

 

Gadget hunched in on herself further, and tried to pretend the blanket’s meager warmth and pressure was Chermiin’s arm, draped over her and protecting her from her chatty cellie. “I’M. GOING TO SLEEP. SO STOP TALKING.”

 

“Alright, sweetspark. Sweet dreams.” Flashbang giggled at her little joke. The empuratee didn’t respond, offlining her optic sensors and managing to slip into a fitful and uneasy recharge. Even though the cell was dark, it still felt too bright, without the murky blackness of solitary. The darkness had been so thick in there that Gadget had seen shapes swimming around in it.

 

She must have managed to get into a lasting sleep, because the next thing she knew, she was jolting awake to a guard walking down the cell line, loudly trailing his nightstick along the bars.  “Get up! Morning rations.”

 

Flashbang rose before Gadget, who got out of bed shaking grogginess away. The cell doors opened, and bots started to file out. The empuratee couldn’t help but notice the dead expressions and mindless shuffling, and in a moment of clarity, realized that would be her if she didn’t keep her helm on her shoulders. She joined the line, and they made their way to the mess hall. It was a tall-ceilinged, wide room with columns periodically dotted throughout the room. At the far wall, a counter ran, with the kitchen behind it. The line hugged the west wall and slowly inched towards the counter as people filed up to get a cube. Gadget looked around as she waited, shuffling up a few steps every few seconds. There was an odd lack of Decepticons, even though this was an Autobot prison. Even Garrus-9 had had more, and that was an Autobot prison as well. She thought back to Thinstreak, and Chermiin, and realized hollowly that maybe it wasn’t that odd at all. Still, to have murdered -- Gadget looked up the average ratio for shuttles coming into G-10. It seemed to be a three-to-one ratio. To have murdered a fourth of the prison population seemed excessive, even for Thinstreak. He seemed to like keeping his hands clean.

 

Gadget swiped the cube presented her and sat down at a table alone, slipping her proboscis into the ration, and sucked it down quickly. As she came out of the fog of sleep and the haze of numb distance, she ignored the growing burn in her chest by turning her increasingly neurotic attention towards the security. Cameras at every corner, with a terminal at the north wall by the door. She doubted that the files were on as big a lockdown as Garrus-9 -- after all, they hadn’t been expecting her, and the warden here seemed like the type to underestimate. Still, it couldn’t hurt to develop a second main code. She could clean up the one she’d crafted in G-9. If nothing else, prison was going to be good for her coding skills.

  
  


\----------------------

  
  


Haven sighed as the body bag got laid on the autopsy table, in the very back of the clinic. “Oh,  _ god.” _

 

Dent stepped away after patting his shoulder. “It’s a doozy, Doc.” 

 

Haven stepped forwards and unzipped the bag, and turned away, hand coming up to cover his face.  _ “Oh, _ **_god.”_ ** He turned back, spark dropping a thousand feet in a second.  _ “Chermiin? _ What’s  _ she _ doing here?”

 

“Hell if I know,” The guard shrugged, sighing. “Thinstreak blew her damn head clean off. If you could tell me what happened to him, that’d be real nice.”

 

“I know as much as you do,” Haven muttered bitterly, “Help me get her out of the bag.” Dent came forwards to get hands under Chermiin’s body, as Haven’s bottom two hands swept the bag onto the floor for the moment. “Alright, set ‘er down. Primus.”

 

They both stepped away, and looked at Chermiin’s graying body. Haven sighed heavily, and grimaced at Dent. “I have to do my ME report. Scarper. I’ve got this.”

 

Dent patted his top right shoulder and grimaced back. “Alright then, I’ll leave you to it.”

 

He walked out, and Haven cleaned up the body bag, folding it up and putting it aside on the counter for later. Then, he came back over, standing despondently over Chermiin of Stripangxa’s headless body. It seemed like only yesterday they’d stood together as Decepticons for a noble cause. Now look at them. Look at the  _ Cons. _ “Wish we didn’t have to meet again like this,” Haven mumbled, beginning the scan and turning on his recording microphone in his top right thumb, bringing the thumb to his mouth to begin the report. “Patient is fully gray. Cause of death is a blaster wound taking the head cleanly off, rupturing the cranial cavity and exploding the head down to the shoulders.”

 

He paused for a moment, struggling not to cry all of a sudden. One of his lower hands came up to cover his mouth. If anyone deserved to avoid this kind of fate, it was Chermiin. She was kind, sweet, considerate. Haven had often found himself wanting to protect her aboard the Nemesis. He sighed, and kept going. “Uh, uh… patient… patient is um, god…” he took another breath to steady himself. “Rigor morphis has not set in yet, suggesting time of death is less than five hours ago.” He finished up his report, and sighed, knowing full well that he’d have to carry out Chermiin’s funeral wishes. He didn’t want to. He didn’t feel like he knew her well enough. She didn’t necessarily want a Spectralist funeral, but she did want to be ejected into space. Haven went to get one of the prison coffins ready. He’d have to… he’d have to notify Flux. Perhaps it would be better if Flux did. For closure.

 

Flux. The doctor felt a pang of dread, knowing that the plane very much thought he was dead, and very aware that it probably would have devastated her. But he could send a signal to the Nemesis medibay, have the CMO tell her then. After all, that would be more official. He readied the message on his official computer, and loaded Chermiin into the coffin after preparing the body, grunting with the effort as his chronically sore back struts screamed at him. He signed off on her death certificate, tagged it to the message, and put the coffin on a wheeling cart to push it over to the cannon mounted in the morgue, a wing off of the clinic. Spectralist cannons were nearly standard issue for morgues across the star system. Haven picked up the coffin, straining to fit it into the launch tube, and closed the chamber with finality, resting tiredly with his hand planted on it. He patted the cannon. “Goodbye, old friend.”

 

Then, he moved around behind the cannon, selecting pre-programmed parameters and pressed the launch button, starting the ten second countdown. As the clock ticked down, Haven sighed, spark feeling more and more numb. A rushing hiss sounded, and a blast of coolant cloud spurted out from under the loading chamber as the coffin was ejected, flying away from the prison and into space. Where it would go after that, Haven had no idea.

 

It soared up through space, got caught briefly in orbit, and was slingshotted out by nightfall, traveling through space until it was caught in the orbit of a passing asteroid. Chermiin’s coffin fell to the porous ground, and its signal pinged enticingly, still trying to catch the attention of the Nemesis's chief medical officer. Only a few days passed before a ship touched down, someone coming out to inspect the goods that was decidedly not Havoc of Helex.

 

Grave Robber knelt and popped the lid on the coffin, eyes widening when they saw its contents. “Oh, Mortilus.”

 

They pulled out a datapad and updated their dark web auction site with “body of Chermiin of Stripangxa, headless”. Nearly immediately, their results lit up with response pings, and they surfed through offers, gasping at the biggest one. They opened a message channel.

 

“I'm ready to offer whatever you want,” the potential buyer said. 

 

Grave Robber typed back. “How about a billion shanix and a new ship?”

 

“Done.”

 

“Give me your coordinates, and pay half of it up front to this account.” Grave Robber listed their bank account, and almost immediately, half a billion shanix showed up as pending. At the same time, coordinates showed up in the messages. Grave Robber approved the transaction, and nearly dropped their datapad, pure exhilaration coursing through them. “Good. I'll be on my way. Expect me by the end of the week.”

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


Gadget spent the rest of the day working on that second code, barely registering the passage of time or events. She was fairly certain she spent time in the yard, but she could barely remember, her memory a sea of swimming, scrolling code. Before she knew it, she was being escorted back down the hallway by a guard, to her cell. 

 

A flurry of activity erupted at the end of the hall, and Thinstreak stormed by, shoulder checking her by accident as he screamed at the two poor guards flanking him. “ _ No, _ you ridiculous  _ oaf, _ I can’t attend to that right now! I have too much on my plate and I have the _ meeting _ coming up in two days! Take care of it yourselves!” 

 

They mumbled affirmatives and split off, as Gadget was toted away from the scene and further down the hall. That had been interesting. As irascible and teensy-spiked as the warden seemed on a daily basis, this was irritable even for him. It piqued Gadget’s interest, and as she was thrown into her cell, she noticed Flashbang’s cot was empty. “WHERE’S MY CELLMATE?”

 

“Flashbang? She’s angling for some speeders, I think. Spending some quality time with the guard on E-block. She’ll be back pretty soon, probably.”

 

Gadget didn’t answer as they closed the door and she sat down on her bed, setting aside her little code project for later. She had a bigger mystery to crack -- several, in fact. Why was the warden so agitated? Just what was going on at this prison? What meeting had the warden mentioned? Why were there so few Decepticons at a prison that wasn’t an Autobot-only prison?

 

Gadget decided to try out her newly improved project. She’d modified it to work without being plugged into a terminal, due to necessity. She deployed a hesitant, probing ping at the alarm systems, waiting. Nothing. She sent another at the file system. No sirens. She sent one last one to maintenance and security. All was quiet. 

 

So, they hadn’t earmarked this code; or, at the very least, she'd made it different enough to be unrecognizable. The empuratee hit files first. Best to arm herself with raw information and parse it from there. She perused inmate records, guard records, warden records…

 

That was funny. There had been a normal ratio of Autobots to Deceptions until when Thinstreak had taken office. Then, Cons had mysteriously begun dwindling -- causes cited as anything from transfer to suicide. Gadget noticed it was mostly suicide, which was inherently suspicious. This place was clearly hell, but Autobots weren’t treated that much better. Cons were disappearing far too methodically for it to be due to simple suicide. 

 

Footsteps sounded outside, and Gadget looked to see Flashbang being escorted back by a guard. Both had subtle paint transfers, and Flashbang was stretching with a sort of satisfied grin on her face. The guard had a hand at the small of her back, and gently pushed her into the cell, tossing an extra blanket into her arms and closing the door. After he walked away, Flashbang hummed with contentment, her optics unusually bright, and laid down on her bed, snuggling into both blankets. Her EMF read oddly, jittery and excitable. A swipe of speeder dust swept the left corner of her nose.  

 

Gadget tossed her own blanket over herself and turned to face the wall, cuddling back into an imaginary Chermiin. She kept browsing through files, looking, and looking. The warden’s itinerary listed him as absent from the office twice a year for an unusually long block of time, for unspecified reasons. In and of itself, that wasn’t suspicious, but she also noticed that this unspecified block of time fell two days from now, when the warden had snapped off about  _ the meeting, _ whatever that was. Apparently, the rate had decreased -- upon browsing at the very beginning of this bot’s reign, the empurata noticed that these long blocks of times appeared to be quarterly. At some point, they’d dwindled to twice a year, and plateaued. She’d have to investigate. 

 

At some point, she must have drifted off. She slept lightly, and for once, the blanket seemed warmer and heavier than it was, and the gentle hiss of tank hydraulics reached her, distantly. It was just at the edge of her consciousness, and Chermiin’s soft voice hummed something. But Gadget couldn’t see anything, still caught in a tender, inky blackness of half-sleep. So she spent the night in limbo, and for at least a few hours, things were okay again. She listened to Chermiin tell her things, though she couldn’t identify what they were in the moment. The words were soothing and kind. That was all that mattered.

 

The sound of the nightstick trailing across bars woke her, and she groaned, flopping an arm out. “CHER. MIIN. CH… ERMIIN?”

 

Flashbang was passed out snoring, and Gadget was cold. The light blanket scratched, and the visored bot’s spark skipped a beat when she realized she must have been dreaming. Chermiin was dead. Somehow, it still hadn’t processed, despite it being nearly a month. She didn’t even know what the prison had done with the body. Funeral rites had never been that important to her, but she also didn’t know if they were important to Chermiin. They didn’t talk about things like that. They’d talked about things like themselves, or Garrus-9, or… or food, or just… nonsense. Small stuff. Chermiin’s favorite color was orange. 

 

The guard whistled. “Morning rations! Get up!”

 

Gadget pulled the blanket closer to herself. Her tanks ached, but not because she was hungry -- it went deeper than that. Finally, as the doors opened automatically, letting people out to line up, she forced herself to get up, leaving Flashbang to snore -- very loudly and uglily.

 

Rations found Gadget holding her cube, helm swivelling to see if there was anyone she could ask questions under the table. A young Con sat by himself at the table, clearly trying not to make trouble, and Gadget made her way over, sitting across from him at the table. “YOU KEEP HUNCHING IN ON YOURSELF LIKE THAT, AND YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE YOURSELF A TARGET.”

 

“What?” The bot jumped, clearly scared, and then he laid eyes on her. “It’s  _ you. _ ”

 

“YEAH. ME. GOT A QUESTION FOR YOU. KNOW ANY RUMORS ABOUT THIS PLACE?”

 

“Me? Uh, I dunno, I dunno if I should…”

 

Gadget looked around, and subtly poured a little of her ration to slightly refill the bot’s cube. “A LITTLE INCENTIVE. WHAT DO YOU KNOW?”

 

“I really don’t know if I should. They’re not nice rumors.”

 

Gadget was starting to get fed up. The files were clearly sanitized, and it was clear the Autobot populations of this prison had a “don’t ask, don’t look, don’t tell” policy when it came to everything. She’d just about had enough -- she wanted to know what kind of place she was in, and she wanted to know right now. She wanted to know what kind of place she’d brought Chermiin to. “NOBODY WILL KNOW.”

 

“I don’t… think… um…”

 

Gadget beeped in frustration and annoyance and extended the datacable, widening the claws and slamming it to the back of the Con’s neck. It bounced his face into the table, hard enough to shake the cubes, but not hard enough to do any damage. Gadget pressed a little harder to show she meant business. “I ASKED NICELY. WHAT DO YOU KNOW?”

 

As he was blubbering for her not to hurt him, she delicately reached for his cube with her two-pincered claw and poured her portion of the ration back before setting it down again. She tightened the claws a little. “I’M NOT OUT TO HURT YOU. JUST TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO KNOW. THIS DATACABLE CAN DELIVER A HELL OF A LOT OF VOLTAGE, BY THE WAY.”

 

The Con put his hands up. “Okay, okay! Um, this place has got a really bad rep. At least, with Cons. Lately, if you’re a Con, you don’t wanna go to Garrus-10. You go in and you don’t come back out. Something’s up, but that’s all I know, I swear! I swear, so please don’t fry my brain!”

 

Gadget hummed, and let the guy up, putting his cube back down and picking up her own to go sit by herself at another table. She sat, daintily, and crossed her legs, and did her best to ignore three other Cons who had seen her pry information out of the little one huddle in. They were whispering and casting glances her way. One got up, and the others followed, flanking her like a royal guard. She approached, and propped a leg up on the chair in front of Gadget. “Hey there, Red Peril.”

 

Gadget sipped her fuel calmly, and didn’t react. The ringleader tilted her helm. “Hey. Are you listening to me, you Autobot bitch?” The empurata’s screen fuzzed static, and she tilted her helm, making an obnoxious slurping sound. The Con frowned, eyes narrowing as she leaned in. “Got anything to say? What were you bothering our friend over there for?”

 

Gadget slurped even louder until she ran out of fuel to slurp, and then took her time furling her proboscis back in and sliding the panel back over. She cleared her intake, like she was going to say something, and then turned away and put the cube on the table.

 

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” the aggressor snarled, and the two behind her leaned in as well. “But don’t think you can jerk me around and get away with-”

 

“I’M TRYING TO FIND OUT WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THIS PLACE,” Gadget snapped. In the back of her mind, she wondered when she had gotten this irascible. “I DON’T NEED THREE RANDOS ITCHING FOR A FIGHT. FUCK OFF. COME BACK WHEN I HAVE THE TIME.”

 

“You little cunt-” The Con hissed, lashing out to grab Gadget by the skinny neck, but the empuratee jumped out of the way, knocking the chair over. That made the three advance, murder in their eyes, and that in turn made a group of Autobots spring up. 

 

“Hey! Con, you wanna pick on someone your own size?” The guy -- seemed like some sort of small tank -- pushed a table out of the way, and his three friends followed him. Gadget backed up further, as plating rose with both parties’ hackles. Suddenly, this was very abruptly not about her, and she took the opportunity to scurry over to the dispensary and chuck her empty cube in the recycling bin. As Gadget watched from across the room, the Con ringleader threw the first punch. In a breathtakingly short amount of time, a full-blown prison fight had broken out, complete with guards rushing forwards with batons at the ready. Alarms began to blare, and Gadget took the opportunity to slip out down the hallway. Halfway out the door, she paused. She could always grab Flashbang a cube -- after all, she would have done that for Chermiin if the tank had overslept and missed breakfast, had they been cellmates. 

 

Gadget thought on it. Flashbang wasn’t Chermiin. Nodding to herself, the empuratee kept going down the hall, and made it to her cell door. It was locked, and Flashbang was giving her a weird look. “Where’s the guards? Why’s the alarm going off?”

 

Gadget rattled the door and looked over her shoulder. Flashbang commented, very confusedly, that  _ Gadget was  _ **_aware_ ** _ she couldn’t get in without a guard unlocking the door,  _ **_right,_ ** and Gadget eyed the keypad. She snaked her datacable out and plugged it into the keypad, running the numbers across her screen at light speed. It was a ten-number lock. Admirable, almost. They gave it their best shot. Already Gadget had discovered three numbers in the sequence, as the others scrolled in busy, hurried columns down her screen. Every so often, another number would click into place, and Flashbang gaped. “Are you -- are you hacking the lock?”

 

Gadget didn’t answer, as the seventh number fell into its spot. Footsteps thundered as two guards rushed by, and Gadget moved to cover the fact that she was plugged into her own cell’s lock with her body. Fortunately, the guards didn’t even glance her way, and the eighth number fell into place. Flashbang’s mouth was wide open. “You’re really doing it!”

 

Number nine. One more to go. It clicked into place and the light beeped green, and the door slid open. Gadget ducked in and slammed the door shut behind herself. The door locked automatically, and she crossed the small space to sit down on her berth and vent. Flashbang scooted to the edge of her own berth, eyes bright. “How did you do that?”

 

“IT’S NOT TOO HARD. BASIC HACKING.”

 

“That was amazing!”

 

“WHAT, YOU’RE NOT GOING TO ASK ME TO HELP YOU ESCAPE?”

 

“Ha!” Flashbang laughed right out loud, slapping her knee. “No, I’m not stupid. You must not have the mouth flower.”

 

“I DON’T HAVE A MOUTH,” Gadget deadpanned. Flashbang hummed in thoughtful agreement. 

 

“Well, they’ll find someplace to put it.”

 

“WHAT IS THAT?”

 

“Oh, it’s something they picked up from some Grindcore place. It’s brutal. Notice how you haven’t seen anyone transform?”

 

“YEAH?”

 

Flashbang opened her mouth and angled her helm up. Bolted to the top of her palate, a small disc rested. She closed her mouth, and shrugged. “If you transform, a spear goes directly into your brain. Rumors are they can remotely override it if you try to escape, and I’m not taking any chances.”

 

Gadget nodded. “AND WHAT ELSE DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS PLACE?”

 

As much as Gadget didn’t like Flashbang, the Camien did prove to be a ship-sinker. She spilled quite a lot of gossip, and Gadget had managed to match and correlate those events to seemingly innocuous reports in Garrus-10’s filing system. The more she read, the more she was sure she needed to get into the warden’s office. He probably kept physical notes there -- she’d need three minutes, tops, if she found datapads worth downloading. Something like this, there would most certainly be some sort of screen trail.

 

It was later that day that guards came for Gadget, guiding her down the hall and all the way to the warden’s office. One guard opened the door and she stepped in, already tense. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she was very afraid of this mech. She hesitantly sat in a chair, and Thinsteak eyed her over his steepled fingers. She just eyed him back. Finally, at the door shut, he spoke. “It took us a while to locate you.”

 

“DID IT?”

 

“Yes. See, you were supposed to be in the mess hall. But a fight broke out, and security cameras showed you leaving the room. You do know prisoners are not allowed to walk freely, correct?”

 

Gadget tilted her helm. “WHAT, ARE YOU CHEWING ME OUT FOR… WALKING BACK TO MY CELL?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Thinstreak snapped, rising. “How did you get in?”

 

Gadget shrugged. “THAT PASSCODE IS MY FAVORITE NUMBER. I USE IT FOR ALL OF MY PASSCODES.”

 

The warden cried out quietly in disgust. “I don’t have time for this, I really don’t. You Garrus-9 transfers are all the same -- uppity and presumptuous. Well, I’ll beat that out of you yet. You haven’t gotten an inhibitor, have you?”

 

“NO.”

 

“That changes today. Guards! Take her to the clinic. She needs an inhibitor.”

 

They hauled her out, and Gadget ended up sitting in a medical chair with her arms braced on the armrests as the medic doing the procedure pushed her head forwards, leaning around to show her the disc of metal he was applying. He had four arms and a tired face. “This is a transformation inhibitor. I’m legally required to tell you it’s necessary, but they can’t stop me from saying that in my personal medical opinion, it’s a crock of bullshit. That said, I still have to install it, so all I’m going to say is good luck.” 

 

The disc had an extendable point, sharp enough to pierce plating. With his bottom two hands, he held Gadget’s helm in place, and with his top two, he withdrew and secured the disc squarely to the back of her helm. He bolted it in place with a bolt gun, and Gadget winced. It hurt, but only for a second, and before she knew it, the medic was withdrawing and setting aside the equipment to clean. “It’s a quick procedure. Now, I’m legally required to tell you that we can trigger the expansion at random, but as the medic who installs it, I can say that almost never happens. It’s fear-mongering. On your way, now. Tell one of the guards if the bolts feel funny or you start feeling rust at the rivet points.”

 

Gadget was sent back to her cell, constantly bothered by the feeling of the inhibitor plate’s point digging into the back of her helm. The sooner she got out of this place, the better, but she doubted she could rubber-stamp her own transfer again -- she knew as well as whoever was left at Garrus-9 that the only reason she’d gotten away with it was that Fort Max hadn’t had the time to retrieve her before Overlord had hit. As Gadget retired to bed for the night, she hoped that Fort Max was okay. He probably wasn’t -- after all, the visored bot wasn’t stupid, or anything approaching optimistic -- but at least for now, in ignorance, she could hope. 

 

She dreamed of Chermiin again that night, as the air was soft and dark around them both. Their surroundings were unclear, fuzzy, and Gadget thought it might have been Garrus-9, but she couldn’t be sure. The tank offered her a snack she said she’d asked a guard for, and Gadget took it. They were rust sticks from a vending machine. Gadget fed it into her intake, and there was no hassle of having to wait for her grippers to dismantle it -- it just disappeared down her intake. Chermin smiled and stuck one in her mouth. It hung at an angle from her lips, and Gadget reached up, noticing the way their knees touched as they both sat criss-cross. The way the rust stick hung out of the tank’s mouth mesmerized the empurata -- Chermiin was so beautiful, and Gadget wondered how she hadn’t noticed that as much before. The tank smiled, and the rust stick flicked up with the pull of her orange-painted lips, as she giggled through her nose. Her optics crinkled at the corners. There was something off about them, but Gadget couldn’t be bothered to figure out what at the moment, not when Chermiin was back with her and not dead. 

 

Chermiin took the rust stick out to talk, and her words sounded like they were underwater. She told Gadget that it was alright, and Gadget was going to be fine, and it was okay that she’d brought them both here because there was no way she could have known. Something still felt off -- her eyes. Something about her face. Gadget hesitated for a fraction of a moment, and Chermiin’s smile turned a bit confused, as she asked what was wrong. The image glitched, just a bit, and Gadget jumped. Chermiin’s face glitched again, and came out on the other side missing -- her whole head was missing, smoking from the explosion that had blown it off, and there was energon running down her front and spurting all over Gadget and --

 

Gadget woke with screaming vents, throwing and kicking the blankets off of herself. A minute later, the guard woke everyone for morning rations, still trailing that nightstick along the bars. 

 

Gadget went for an uneventful morning ration, keeping the warden’s itinerary queued up, and noticed that the atmosphere amongst the Autobots was tense, and unusually quiet. A clatter of plating approached behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to see the little guy from yesterday. His nose was a little crooked from the table. “D-do you know what’s going on?” he mumbled, hands wringing as he hovered. It was clear he wanted to sit down. “All the other Autobots are looking at me really funny.” Gadget studied him, tilting her helm, and he chewed on his lip. “You don’t s-seem very nice, but… none of my friends know what’s going on, and you were trying to find out, so… did you find anything?”

 

Gadget patted the seat next to her and took the bot’s cube when he sat down, over his protests. She poured a little extra of hers into it and set it back in front of him, ignoring his shocked expression. “Wha-”

 

“I HAVEN’T FOUND TOO MUCH OUT. WARDEN HAS A STRANGE BLOCK OF TIME CUT OUT TWICE A YEAR. I’M INVESTIGATING IT.”

 

“Investigating it?” The little fellow wrapped both hands around his cube and brought it to his lips, eyes wide and innocent. He didn’t look much older than a century. “How so? Are you some sort of undercover agent?”

 

Gadget shook her head. “JUST. NOSY.”

 

“Did you… did you k-know Chermiin really well?”

 

Gadget beeped in shock, an exclamation point popping up on her screen, and her helm swivelled to face him. He recoiled, smiling placatingly. “Sorry! I just -- Chermiin was a big-name, I’ve heard, I’m an MTO, she was a big-name before she got captured.”

 

“COOL. DON’T CARE. I’M NOT HERE TO TALK ABOUT CHERMIIN. APPARENTLY, BEFORE THE CURRENT WARDEN TOOK THE JOB, DECEPTICONS AND AUTOBOTS HAD A NORMAL RATIO. IT WAS ONE TO THREE WITH THIS PRISON, WITH CONS MAKING UP A FOURTH OF THE POPULATION. THEN, THINSTREAK TOOK THE JOB, AND THAT NUMBER STARTED DROPPING. THERE WERE SUDDENLY TWICE-YEARLY BLOCKS OF TIME MISSING FROM HIS ITINERARY RECORDS. I THINK HE’S SELLING CONS OUT. TO SOMEONE. DON’T KNOW WHO.”

 

The young Con eyed her, quiet for a moment. “Are you like, a crazy person?” he asked, and Gadget beeped again, louder, and her plating puffed up. The little guy put his hands up in surrender, apologizing, and Gadget relaxed, still a little miffed. She checked the warden’s itinerary and noticed that his absence had begun -- now was a good time to check things out. She finished off her own cube and stood. The young fellow stood with her. He was a bright sort of green. “Hey! Where are you g-going?”

 

“I’M GOING TO BREAK INTO THE WARDEN’S OFFICE,” Gadget deadpanned, and the little guy laughed nervously, before realizing she was serious. 

 

She started to walk away, and he frantically trotted after her. “Can I come with?”

 

“NO.”

 

“Why not? I wanna find out too! B-besides, I have a right to know, _I’m_ in the faction that keeps disappearing!”

 

“TOUGH TIT-PLATE. THE LAST TIME I TEAMED UP WITH A CON, SHE GOT HER HEAD BLOWN OFF.” She threw her cube in the recycling bin, and the Con followed suit.

 

“What -- are you  _ protecting _ me?”

 

Gadget pivoted her helm nearly a hundred and eighty degrees, her gyroscopic neck clearly freaking the kid out. “NO. I’M PROTECTING ME.”

 

“Please? I promise I won’t make trouble!”

 

“UNDERSTAND THAT IF YOU WERE TO COME ALONG, I WOULD NOT HESITATE TO DITCH YOU IF YOU GOT TO BE A LIABILITY. I WOULD CUT YOU OFF SO FAST YOU’D GET WHIPLASH. THIS IS A ONE PERSON JOB. I’M BREAKING INTO THE WARDEN’S OFFICE TO SEE IF THERE’S ANY PERSONAL RECORDS I CAN DOWNLOAD AND THEN I’M OUT, AND THAT’S IT.”

 

She turned around to face the front again and started to walk out, as the bot trailed behind her. “C’mon, I’ve only been around for a year or two! I got captured on my first mission! Please let me see some action?”

 

Gadget almost groaned. Younger than she thought. “FINE. BUT YOU DO EXACTLY AS I SAY, OR I’M DROPPING YOU AND I WAS NEVER WITH YOU. I WON’T HELP YOU GET OUT OF IT.”

 

“Understood.” the kid was nearly bouncing on his feet, trying not to smile, and if Gadget had eyes, she would have rolled them. Instead, she beckoned the kid to follow her. 

 

“THIS WAY.”

 

They strode down the hallways, and occasionally passed guards. At first, the Con kid started to hunch in on himself, but then he noticed how Gadget didn’t even break stride -- walked with her back straight and her helm up, and he tried to do the same. The guards didn’t even look at them. One caught eyes with him, and the kid was sure he was going to be caught. The guard smiled and tossed up a hand, and kept going. 

 

Gadget stopped abruptly at an intersection and pressed herself close to the wall, peeking down the south hallway. “THAT’S WHERE THE WARDEN’S OFFICE IS. THERE’S A GUARD AT THE DOOR -- I NEED YOU TO DISTRACT HIM.”

 

“D-distract?”

 

“YEAH. TRUST ME, SOMEONE LIKE YOU ISN’T GOING TO GET INTO A LOT OF TROUBLE, EVEN HERE. JUST ACT PITIFUL. CRY OR SOMETHING. GIMME YOUR COMM LINK SO I CAN DIRECT YOU.”

 

“Cry, okay…” The kid worked himself up until there were tears in his eyes and his breath came short, and he looked at Gadget, pinging her with an invitation of his frequency. “T-this okay?”

 

“DOING GREAT. GO BLUBBER.”

 

The kid started off down the hall, and the guard by the door perked up. “Hey! What are you doing out of your cell?”

 

**:Say your cellie got hurt in morning rations. A fight broke out or something.:**

 

“It -- it’s my cellmate, they’ve g-gotten hurt, they-” The kid broke down into tears, and Gadget checked into the security feeds for the warden’s office. The footage showed no one at his desk, with the chair a little pushed out. No one was in the room at all, and Gadget nodded, as the Con guided the guard off, shaking and crying and bawling that he didn’t really know how to get the guard to his cell because he’d gotten lost looking for someone. Gadget took the opportunity to sneak in, heels clicking down the south hall until she reached the door. She plugged her datacable in, running the combination locks for the numbers, and within seconds, the door pinged open. She retracted her datacable as the door slid open, revealing a  _ very not empty office. _

 

The warden sat behind his desk, mouth half-open and his eyes like little green moons. In the chair to the left in front of his desk, a dour stranger sat, holding some sort of mangy rabid turbofox in their lap. Gadget stood in the doorway as all was quiet for a few seconds. The warden looked at her, she looked at the warden, and the stranger turned his helm to look at her. She looked at the stranger. The stranger looked at the warden. The warden looked at the stranger, and Gadget looked at the turbofox. Gadget and the warden looked back at each other again.

 

She jammed her claw into the button to close the door as quickly as she could and did a one-eighty, ignoring the warden’s shout of alarm as she began to teeter back down the hallway, breaking into a run. Yapping sounded behind her, and little scritchy claws sounded on the floor. The empuratee heard Thinstreak suck in a vent to call for guards, and he was stopped by a sigh and “Don’t bother, warden. If you would excuse me.”

 

The air pressure shifted, fizzing with ozone, and some sort of cold fist struck Gadget, making all of her muscle cables seize up. Her back arched like a bow and she fell forwards onto her stomach, jerking and twitching mindlessly until the ice stopped gripping her. She relaxed like she’d been released from marionette strings, still twitching a little. Now that she had been released, she realized that hadn’t been ice gripping her -- it had been _fire._ Her plating smoked in some places, just a little, and her circuits buzzed with too much charge, skittering around in her helm. Her audials were underwater again, as she vaguely heard the stranger back off and sarcastically remark that the warden took excellent care of his facilities and could clearly be trusted. Thinstreak babbled to reassure, hurried heel clicks coming over to Gadget. A solid kick landed itself in her midsection and she jerked, rolling over onto her side and clutching her midsection. Thinkstreak leaned over her, pressing a blaster to her helm. He was growling questions at her, like how she had gotten out or how she had known the door code. But time felt fuzzy, and Gadget’s head lolled. As her hearing cleared, a second set of steps approached along with scrabbly turbofox feet, and the mangy thing crawled over Gadget’s frame to get to her visor and start licking. It drooled all over her, and she swiped an arm drunkenly, missing entirely. The thing yapped in her ear.

 

“Perhaps you should review your own security footage, warden,” The stranger commented, and as Gadget peered out of the side of her visor facing up, the tesla coils mounted on his shoulders crackled a little. “I will wait. We would like to be assured this prison is as well run as you've been saying it is. Don’t shoot this one just yet.”

 

So, some kind of upper management. But if upper management was visiting, it followed that Thinstreak wouldn’t need to be shady about these meetings. Gadget was hauled up by her armpits and dragged back down the hallway, plopped into the chair on the right, and the stranger took his on the left as Thinstreak went back to his computer after shutting the door and locking it. “We’ll see about this, won’t we. You Garrus-9 transfers are  _ abhorrent. _ A constant tweak in my damn wires. ”

 

The stranger’s attention perked up. “Garrus-9? This one is from Garrus-9?”

 

“Yes. Transferred in just a week before… mm. The  _ incident.” _

 

Gadget’s processor swam as the stranger cast sightless eye sockets to her. “And… what’s your name?”

 

“GADGET. OF CARTHEX,” she slurred, head swinging in tiny circles as she did her best not to slump in the chair. The effects of whatever had hit her outside were wearing off, but it was slow and foggy. She felt like she hadn’t slept in ages, despite being very overcharged from whatever had done this to her.

 

“I see. And, how long did you spend at Garrus-9 before coming here?” The stranger’s voice was suddenly sweet, a bit coaxing, as the turbofox on his lap wagged its ugly, chewed little tail. The thing was kind of cute, in a way. Gadget stalled a moment, the question processing, before answering. 

 

“SOMEWHERE. AROUND A MONTH. I TRANSFERRED IN WITH CHERMIIN OF STRIPANGXA.”

 

“Alright, and why did you transfer out?”

 

“I LEARNED THAT OVERLORD WAS COMING,” Gadget volunteered, sinking a little further into the comfortable chair. “SO I HAD CHERMIIN HELP ME AND WE GOT OUT OF THERE.” 

 

“Mm, mhm,” The stranger hummed, and patted her arm before withdrawing. He cast a dirty look at Thinstreak, who had just found the security feeds. “This one’s offering up more than you ever do. Perhaps I should do business with her, instead. She’s far more pleasant.”

 

“She’s _batshit crazy,”_ Thinstreak grumbled, before swallowing in apparent fear. “I -- er, I have the feeds pulled up.”

 

“ _ One moment, _ if you would, warden. Gadget, darling -- am I getting that right?” At Gadget’s bleary, drunken nod, he continued. “Gadget, my dear, how did you know that Overlord was going to raid the prison? Did somebody tell you? Did _Chermiin,_ perhaps, let you know?”

 

Gadget shook her helm. The stranger’s eye sockets were wide, in an open and honest sort of way. So Gadget told him, paranoia and anxiety held back by the fog tamping down her processor. “NO. MY PARANOIA HAD ME SCANNING ENCRYPTED FREQUENCIES AND I INTERCEPTED ONE.”

 

_ “Intercepted! _ My, that’s quite an accomplishment,” The stranger purred, leaning forwards with interest, and something deep in Gadget’s gut woke up, twinging with a feeling that reminded her of a hunted animal. His chin was in his fist as his lips curled into an intrigued smile. “And you decrypted this _yourself?”_

 

Gadget took a moment, both to process the question and because something in her was off. It felt funny.  But she nodded, and the stranger nodded encouragingly. “How talented. Did you intercept any _other_ frequencies, Decepticon or otherwise?”

 

Gadget shrugged groggily, head lolling a bit. “I JUST SCANNED THEM TO FALL ASLEEP TO. I PICKED ONES WITH NICE VOICES. BUT I FOUND THE ONE ABOUT OVERLORD AND I TRIED TO TELL FORT MAX. BUT I COULDN’T GET TO HIM, SO I JUMPED SHIP WITH CHERMIIN.”

 

“I see. And what happened to Chermiin?”

 

Gadget didn’t answer, and the stranger reached out to take her claw. “Gadget, darling? What happened to Chermiin? Would you be so kind as to tell me where she might be?”

 

“Chermiin died,” The warden intercepted, and Gadget felt a zing of static run across her claw as the stranger cast a glance at Thinstreak, the tesla coils on his shoulders crackling. 

 

“Did I ask you, warden?”

 

Thinstreak cast his eyes to the desk, cowed, and the stranger turned back to Gadget. “Is that true, my dear?”

 

Gadget nodded, screen fuzzing static. “IT WAS. AWFUL.”

 

“How terrible,” The stranger agreed, nodding, but something about his voice seemed off. It seemed a bit too flat to be sympathetic. The warden cleared his throat. 

 

“Er -- you wanted to see security feeds?”

 

The stranger stood, the turbofox jumping down from his lap and immediately going into Gadget’s, where it snuggled up and got comfy. She barely registered it, her vision swimming again. The red-and-gold stranger went behind Thinstreak’s desk and leaned over his shoulder, one hand coming to brace itself on the desk beside Thinstreak. Gadget had never seen the warden look so about to empty his tanks. The stranger frowned at the footage. “Who’s that with her, there?” He looked to Gadget. “Who’s that with you? What’s their name?”

 

Gadget shrugged. “DUNNO. DIDN’T CATCH IT. BUT HE’S A YOUNG ONE. ONLY A COUPLE OF YEARS OLD. MTO.”

 

“That would narrow it down. Thank you, dear.” He was being so warm towards her, so sickly sweet, and Gadget knew something was wrong in the back of her processor -- she just couldn’t get her head screwed back on right. Thinstreak eyed her. 

 

“You didn’t _lobotomize_ her, did you?”

 

“And if I have?”

 

“She’ll be just another mouth to feed, that’s what,” Thinstreak mumbled, and the stranger laid a gentle hand on the back of the warden’s neck without saying anything. Gadget watched with a sort of distantly vicious smugness as the warden’s eyes got very, very big behind his glasses, and he kept his mouth shut. 

 

“Relax,” The stranger said after a moment. “She’ll be fine in a few hours. Now, we want what you owe us. So round them up. This young one included.”

 

Gadget didn’t remember much from that incident, her brain already having lost its slippery hold on the information. As such, she only had brief snippets of conversation to hold onto, ghosts of faces. She had been escorted back to her cell. She didn’t see the most recent Con transfers the next day in the mess hall, and she almost missed the little guy. 

 

Something in her still felt off, but she put it aside to investigate later. As she finished the last of her rations, two guards approached. “Gadget of Carthex? Come with us.”

 

She stood, taking a step back as they approached, suspicion flaring. “WHAT DID I DO? I HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING. I JUST FUCKING WOKE UP.”

 

“Warden wants to see you.” One guard reached for her and snatched her by the arm, towing her along. The journey ended with her being unceremoniously dumped in the chair across from the warden’s desk, and as one guard left, the other locked the door. Gadget stood up to protest, until the warden rose and his plating flared threateningly, eyes burning with hate. 

 

“You,” he hissed, “are a troublemaker. You could have ruined  _ everything _ yesterday, do you understand?”

 

Gadget shrunk back, spark fluttering, and she took a slight step backwards. The warden just advanced. She took another step back. “I. UH. I DON’T. I DON’T UNDERSTAND.”

 

“What were you doing trying to break into my office?” The warden snapped, backing her to the wall. Gadget beeped desperately. 

 

“I WAS TRYING TO SNOOP PLEASE DON’T PUT ME IN SOLITARY. I WAS JUST CURIOUS. IT’S THE ANXIETY. AND THE PARANOIA.”

 

The warden paused, green eyes flashing. “Snoop, hm? I see.”

 

He backed away from her, and Gadget didn’t relax. “ARE YOU. STILL MAD?”

 

“Me? Angry? No,” the warden said, and his voice was deceptively sweet. He picked a decorative glass piece off of his desk and turned it in his fingers, watching it catch the light. “I just… think you need some alone time to reflect on your actions. Nothing else seems to work, you see. After all, beatings are hardly ethical. And you can simply jailbreak your own cell. You can understand why I’m at a bit of a loss, Gadget. I just don’t know how to deal with you.”

 

Gadget beeped in fright, an exclamation point popping up on her screen. “NO. NOT -- NOT SOLITARY. PLEASE. ANYTHING BUT SOLITARY. PLEASE.”

 

Thinstreak set the glass decoration down, still tenderly rubbing it between his fingers as he studied it. “Anything?”

 

“I -- PLEASE. DON’T. PUT ME IN SOLITARY. ANYTHING.”

 

The warden nodded, mouth shrugging. “Hm. Interesting. You see, Chromepoint here’s been feeling a little frustrated, haven’t you, Chromepoint?”

 

“Totally, boss,” Chromepoint said with something very ugly in his voice. Gadget trilled in frightened confusion, plating slimming very close to her body. 

 

“It’s quite sad. I’m also frustrated, Gadget, frustrated with you. So, if you do a very good job of making Chromepoint feel better, I might consider just sending you back to your cell instead of a month in solitary.”

 

Gadget began to shake and Chromepoint advanced, grinning nastily. “WHAT-”

  
  
  


\----------------------------

  
  


“-do you think you’re doing?” Flux chastised, hands on her hips as she struggled not to smile. Some of her younger recruits were hazing their friend, trying to get him to eat turbofox food. They all looked at her with wide, guilty eyes, and the friend looked quite relieved. “Hm? Would someone care to tell me?”

 

“It’s just a game,” one of them said, “just some ragging.”

 

“Oh, is it?” Flux leaned down and picked up the can off the floor, reading the label. “Of the wet food variety? I suppose it’s a good thing you didn’t have kibbles or they would have been all over the floor. Whose idea was this?”

 

“Mine,” one hesitantly spoke up. “We didn’t mean it to be ugly, honest.”

 

“I know,” Flux said, “but how about we do this in a way that’s more constructive, hm? The Generals and I have decided to hold a game of paintball this weekend with everyone for morale. If you’d like, you can settle the score there, how about that?”

 

They all nodded, wide eyes rooted to her, and she finally allowed herself to smile. “You’re not in trouble. God knows hazing isn’t a  _ new _ thing. Hell, Megatron hazed _ me!” _

 

“He did?” The poor bot who was slated to eat turbofox food clamored, sitting back. “What happened?”

 

“That’s a story for when you’re more than a petty officer,” Flux wagged a finger, grinning to show she didn’t mean any harm. “Consider it incentive, hm? I tell that story to all of my Captains when they make rank.”

 

“Yes Sir,” they chorused, delighted. Flux jerked her helm. 

 

“Now, go on. Get out of here. And don’t let me catch you doing this again, understand? Save it for the paintball match.”

  
  


\-----------------------------------------

  
  


Grave Robber arrived on a planet almost entirely under solar eclipse, with brightly glowing foliage leading up a mountainside to a clearly Cybertronian facility. They touched down on the roof's landing pad and killed their ship's engines, foot tapping as they waited for the buyer to show up.

 

A thin, lanky microscope in a lab coat came out to meet them. If Grave Robber looked, there might have been hints that he was a centrifuge as well. They got out to meet him, and he shook their hand.

 

“Quickwit of Crestover Heights,” he said, all business. Grave Robber had delivered corpses to him before, and every once in a while it seemed as if the mech forgot they’d already been introduced -- not that Grave Robber cared. “I'll give you the rest of the payment when the body's inside and I'm sure it's her.”

 

They got the coffin inside and on the table, cracking it open. Quickwit brought out a device and scanned the gray body, smiling when something beeped shrilly. “Perfect. The rest of the payment's on its way.”

 

“Great. Get me to my new ship.” 

 

“You don't want to stick around to see the glory of the Decepticons in action?” Quickwit bragged, grinning. Grave Robber never knew what he did with the bodies he got other than experimentation. Rumor had it that he was a freak mad scientist. Lately, it had been getting around that he was trying to reanimate cadavers. Grave Robber didn't want to find out.

 

“Nope. Just take me to my new ship.” They accepted the ping for the rest of the payment and watched their bank account swell even more, as Quickwit guided them out and to a small shuttle bay.

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


Quickwit finished escorting the courier off-world, and rushed back to his lab, spark pounding with giddy excitement. Chermiin of Stripangxa! What a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He made his way over tableside, and manually opened her chestplates and spark container, bringing out a special sort of wet-vacuum. “Alright, then,” he murmured, transforming goggles into place, “let’s see if you’re Phase-Sixer material, Chermiin.” 

 

He turned on the wet vac and it squirted a stream of water into Chermiin’s spark casing, immediately spraying all the crevices and branching electricity markings caused by a spark. In its journey, it flushed out a glimmering, glittery substance, collecting in the bottom of her casing, where it swirled enticingly. The vacuum dipped close and sucked it up, collecting it in a large vial. When Quickwit deemed that he’d collected all of the spark residue he was going to get, he took the vial of chemicals and water and detached it from the wet-vac, setting the machine aside. Then, he brought the vial over to a lab counter, balancing it in a rack, and brought a case out, popping it open. A tiny cube of sentio metallico rested on dry ice, fog pouring out when the case was opened. He picked it up with tongs, dropping it into the vial, and brought out another case, with a small jar of liquefied ununtrium in it. “This… _this_ should work,” he muttered, “this is what I think I’ve been missing.”

 

He unscrewed the lid, which had a dropper on the inside. He squeezed the dropper, and brought it to hover over the vial of stewing chemicals, water, and melting sentio metallico. He dropped three drops in, and quickly put the jar away after screwing on the cap. Then, he capped the vial, and loaded it into a compartment on his arm, transforming in place and activating his centrifuge altmode. He spun violently in place until he was sure all ingredients were mixed, and transformed again, holding up the vial for inspection. The glittering residue was swirling like a vortex, mixed with gray micelles of sentio metallico and ununtrium. There was no time to waste. He ran over to a rounded, bowl-like beaker with copper running through it, and dumped the substance in, filling it a little over halfway. Then, he turned on a reactive gases machine beside it, and a hose extending from it started to hiss. He grabbed it, and plunged it into the soup, making it start to bubble. He activated an application on his HUD to measure saturation levels, wholly absorbed in his work. Soon. He’d come out of hiding soon. Sure, he was on The List now, but just imagine the look on Tarn and Megatron’s faces when he presented them with a brand-new, perfectly loyal Phase-Sixer. He’d be a hero, all for the glory of the Decepticons. “It can’t be done,” some of his colleagues had said.  _ Crazy _ , they called him. Well, he was going to show them.

 

An orderly walked in, and Quickwit hushed them in advance, throwing up a free hand behind him. He monitored his HUD with laser focus. “Go away.”

 

They did. His fellow scientists knew better than to bother him when he got like this. His HUD pinged him for optimal saturation levels, and he pulled the hose away, placing it aside and cranking a knob on the beaker’s stand. Immediately, current started to run through the copper wires, sparking through the premechanic soup in growing intensity. His eyes wide behind his goggles, Quickwit leaned closer, inching the knob up. The current grew stronger, flashes of blue light appearing here and there. It wasn’t enough -- the clock was ticking down, and so Quickwit pushed on, further, further --

 

In a bright flash, the beaker burst, a new spark at the center of the explosion. Immediately, Quickwit reached for a nearby harvester and turned it on, sucking up the new spark in a safe vaccuum. He stood in the wreckage of his glass vial and the sparking copper wirework, panting. Then, he laughed once, exhilaration thrumming through him, and again, until he was hysterically cackling, screaming his triumph. He’d done it -- he’d just forged a spark from residue, a spark able to withstand the treatment required to be a Phase Sixer. With any luck, this might even completely do away with the need to do that risky procedure anyways. He lovingly stroked the glass of the container, in awe and shock. “Oh, my little miracle,” he murmured, beaming. He turned away from his counter, placing the spark in a secure rack and sealing it behind glass to give it a couple of days to mature in a temperature controlled environment. “Yes, you have a bright future ahead of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are just getting worse and worse for Gadget, really. This is not the worst of her prison stay in Garrus-10 and without spoiling too much for later chapters, it really changes her as a person.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, the procedure that Quickwit is using to resuscitate Chermiin is actually based off of the prebiotic soup model for how life on Earth began (by me, not by him lol)! funny, right? I figured that with something like a spark, that might actually make a lot of sense! He's put the forged spark in a sort of white-out vacuum. Oh, and for those of you wondering, if this spark does turn out to be viable, this means that the mech will be both forged _and_ cold constructed.
> 
> all that said, what are all y'all's thoughts on this chapter?


	21. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gadget gets support from Haven, Quickwit's experiment is progressing far more rapidly than he could have hoped, and finally, Gadget gets a _very interesting_ offer from someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible trigger warnings:**
> 
> **\- Direct aftermath of a sexual assault starting with the first line and ending with the line "she's been cleared, yes..." right before the end of the section. Most of the section deals with the medical treatment of this event. The section immediately after this deals with solitary confinement as well, so be advised!**
> 
> **\- Gadget is brought _back_ to the clinic for more medical treatment for this assault after the line "She passed out lying halfway on the floor." as it's the check-in for the first emergency treatment. This section ends at "You assume a lot of things," Haven muttered."**
> 
> **_There will be a TL;DR at the endnotes for those of you worried you'll miss too much if you skip! Don't worry about missing things because you're trying to read safely. I've got y'all covered! (Triggers suck, I have them too lol)_ **
> 
> **\- Gore mention starting with the sentence "Gadget's opponent attempted to lay hands on her" and one sentence into the next paragraph. The gore mention is centered around eyes and most of it is concentrated at the end of the former paragraph!**
> 
> **That's all i can think of for now, but please let me know if you need anything else!!! <3**

Gadget was hauled to her feet and she staggered, her valve lips dragging painfully against her dented modesty panel. Her secondary panel hadn’t irised back over her valve, as it was too swollen and tender. She began to limp out of the office, Chromepoint’s hand gripping her upper arm in a death grip, and energon welled up between the seams of her valve panel as if the seams were wounds. One thin stream trickled slowly down her leg. The air felt oddly cold against the panel in a way that it didn’t against the rest of her plating. The cold air attempted to spear the metal, hungrily trying to pierce the plating, rushing to soothe the burning wounds. Gadget’s HUD reported energon loss from tearing in the mesh. One of her knees buckled, and the warden scoffed in disgust. “Take her to the clinic! Can’t have another one die in solitary, especially so close after the meeting.”

 

And so, there was a brief reprieve. Gadget almost relished the walk to the clinic, as painful as it was, because it meant that she had a small delay of solitary. When she hobbled into the clinic’s doors, partially supported by the mech that had just violently assaulted her, the medic glanced up from sorting things at his desk. His tired, slightly droopy eyes widened, and he rushed forwards. “Go on, get her on a berth! What happened?”

 

“Found her like this,” Chromepoint supplied, handing Gadget over to the medic. The bot’s four hands were gentle as he insistently pushed her over to a berth and helped her up on it, one hand patting idly as she cried out in pain, flinching. It was a struggle, but she finally got on and flipped over, sinking into the meager cushion like it was the most luxurious thing she’d ever felt. Chromepoint stood by the door, and the medic started to prep Gadget for examination, until he paused. He turned his head to look at Chromepoint, crankily. 

 

“You’re still here?”

 

“She’s a violent one, Doc.”

 

“And what, like I can’t take care of myself? She has a right to an appointment alone if she’d like one. Would you like one?”

 

Gadget nodded instantly, wanting Chromepoint out of her sight for as long as she could manage. The medic cast his glance back to the guard. “Well?”

 

Chromepoint snorted and left, going to stand outside. The medic turned back to Gadget, blue eyes wide. “Alright, can you tell me what happened? Where are you hurt?”

 

Gadget’s screen fuzzed static, her spark burning with her valve. She simply reached down and tapped her valve cover, unable to say it. The medic’s attention was directed to the dented valve panel, as energon seeped like liquidized glittering jewels from the seams, dried streaks of it on her legs. His eyes widened even further as he was galvanised into action, bottom two hands swiping a clipboard off of the table next to the berth. “Good god. Okay, I'm going to need you to open your panel so I can take a look, alright? Can you do that for me?”

 

Gadget nodded, opening her valve panel, and wincing at the drag on her valve lips. A puddle of energon, transfluid and belated lubricant spilled forth, and the medic pursed his lips. He sighed through his nose and wrote something down. “May I take a look?” 

 

The empurata acquiesced, hesitantly, and the four armed medic thanked her. He held the clipboard in one hand, and with the top two, pulled a pair of medical stirrups down from the ceiling. “Okay, can you get your feet into these? Just like that, that's right. You're doing great, sweetspark. I'm going to take a look, alright? I'm going to have my hands on your valve, but I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

 

Gadget tensed as cool fingers met her outer valve lips tenderly, and started probing. The medic leaned between her legs, his bottom two hands preoccupied with writing down observations on the clipboard, mumbling to himself. “Torn and lacerated mesh… torn outer calipers… bleeding, inflammation and swelling due to the violent nature of the penetration…”

 

He raised his voice, as his fingers probed a little deeper, investigating questingly around her valve entrance. Gadget tensed, and he attempted to distract. “Can you tell me your name, sweetspark?”

 

“GADGET. OF CARTHEX.”

 

“That's a great name, Gadget.  Where's Carthex?”

 

“OUT IN THE DESERT. IT’S A MINING CITY.”

 

“That sounds nice, honey. Okay, I’m going to get some tools to scrape this gunk out of your valve, alright? If nothing had gotten torn, I wouldn't have to do anything invasive, but this could get infected.”

 

Gadget’s tanks tightened, but she nodded. The medic patted her knee and withdrew, setting the clipboard aside and going over to the counter on the east wall, sorting through a drawer of supplies. He pulled out a couple of tools and a small tube of something, and walked back over, setting one in clear view on the table. The other, he held up for her inspection, turning it around. “This is a speculum, alright Gadget? It allows me to widen your valve opening so I can see and work inside. I’m going to use it now, alright?”

 

He took the speculum and lubed it up with the tube he’d brought over. His bottom two hands spread the empuratee’s outer lips apart, and the top two focused on worming the speculum inside Gadget’s tender opening, being as gentle as he could. He hissed in sympathy at each of Gadget’s tiny cries of pain. “I know, I know, it hurts. I’ll let you get used to this, alright? Can you maybe, tell me what happened? Who did this to you?”

 

The speedster’s claws clicked a bit, as her screen fuzzed static. “I…” she manually lowered the volume on her vocalizer. “HE’S. UM. HE’S OUTSIDE.”

 

The doctor’s ministrations froze for a moment, and then they resumed, until the speculum was in place and he let it sit. His fingers lingered, gently massaging the sore calipers with internally warmed fingers in an attempt to make things more comfortable. Something in her valve lining tingled, the platelets around the opening oddly numb and warm. “Chromepoint? He did this to you?”

 

Gadget’s head bobbed earnestly, as she beeped quietly. “THE. UM. THE WARDEN TOO. BUT HE DIDN’T TOUCH. HE JUST WATCHED.”

 

“Of course he did, the creep,” the medic growled under his breath, and Gadget tried to sit up a little. It hurt her valve, so she relaxed. 

 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN? HAVE YOU HEARD SOMETHING LIKE THAT BEFORE?”

 

“This isn’t the first time it’s happened,” the medic muttered, “He’s a cock-monger. Alright, I’m going to widen the speculum a little, alright? Just a little.” Gadget felt something stir down between her legs, and she realized the lubricant must have had some sort of numbing agent. “Alright, you’re doing great. Any pain?”

 

“NO.”

 

“Okay, excellent.”

 

The exam went alright -- Gadget was still reeling from what had necessitated it. Her valve was cleaned, nanite gel applied, and the speculum removed. He even un-dented her valve cover.  The medic set the tools aside and helped her feet out of the stirrups. “I’d like you back in here once a week to apply medicine, alright? I’ll tell the guard.”

 

The medic went over and knocked on the door, letting Chromepoint in. “Bring her back once a week for further treatment. She’s free to go.”

 

“Sorry Doc, no can do,” Chromepoint refuted lazily. “Warden has her down for total solitary for a month.”

 

“Oh, he does, does he? Well, you comm the warden and tell him to get his lanky skid plate right on down here, because one way or another I'm seeing this patient for further treatment.”

 

Chromepoint scowled, and lifted two fingers to his audial. Three minutes later, the warden stormed in, righteously pissed. His wingtips fluttered madly as his plating puffed out. The medic (Gadget thought his name might have been Haven?) crossed all four of his arms, pulling a rather fine scowl of his own. Whereas Chromepoint’s scowl could have been likened to a rough, dirty mixed drink, Haven’s could have been the finest aged old corroder. It had all the bite of hard liquor and all of the smoothness that came with age. His very tired eyes also helped. 

 

“Give us the room, please,” the medic tossed at Chromepoint, and the warden nodded in response to the guard’s questioning glance. So Chromepoint retreated outside again, and shut the door behind himself.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” The warden snapped, rounding on Haven. The medic merely lifted an eyebrow, as Thinstreak continued. “You have no authority to override my decisions.”

 

“Except,” Haven countered, his bottom left hand uncrossing itself to hold up an index finger, “In matters pertaining to medical expertise, which this most definitely falls under. This bot has been violently assaulted and the injuries sustained during that assault need further treatment, whether you like it or not.”

 

Thinstreak snarled. “You just want to undermine my decision on solitary confinement!” he growled, and Gadget got the feeling that he wasn’t just talking about her confinement any more. Haven shrugged, his bottom two arms lifting and dropping as they flared out in a “maybe” stance, as his top two stayed crossed. His secondary arms went back to being crossed over his abdomen as he spoke.

 

“I’ve made my position on solitary confinement clear, but this is a separate issue. You will respect my decision or you’ll find yourself another chief medical officer -- something that’s notably hard to do in this area, isn’t it? After all, my subordinate isn’t ready.”

 

Thinstreak outright growled, dentals grinding together, and then he huffed through his nose. “Have it your way. She stays in solitary for a month with weekly excursions to the clinic -- and only to the clinic.”

 

“Not my favorite outcome,” Haven drawled, and Gadget’s spark pounded, “But I suppose I have to take it.”

 

“Yes, you do. Is this one free to go?”

 

“She’s been cleared, yes. And if she complains of any medical issues during solitary and I find out she wasn’t brought to me, you will have hell to pay, Thinstreak of Vos.”

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


Gadget passed her first night in solitary by going through security feeds -- endless bit of footage after endless bit of footage. Most of it had been sanitized. A few odd jewels had been kept -- Thinstreak walking with the stranger, Thinstreak collecting Decepticon prisoners, and said prisoners being boarded onto a ship that didn’t look like an Autobot prison ship, off in the distance. They had been selected and curated so precisely and carefully it was almost as if they were blackmail material -- a warning, for if someone in high command decided to take a look. 

 

That was how Gadget came across a late-night argument in the clinic, dated from ten years ago. Haven had the clinic to himself, cleaning up for the night and ready to retire to his quarters, when Thinstreak stepped through the doors, hands clasped behind his back to make him look important. His sleek frame was dull in the dim, shadowy clinic, lit by poor fluorescent lighting and Haven’s biolights. The camerawork was a bit grainy and the audio a bit fuzzy, but Gadget could make it out.

 

“Doctor.” Thinstreak’s voice was cold, the greeting harsh and clipped. 

 

Haven grunted over his shoulder from his position at the counter, scrubbing tools over the sink. He didn’t look too impressed -- he didn’t even turn around to acknowledge the warden. He just waved a hand over his shoulder in a clear “shoo” motion, as his bottom two hands and his left third hand continued to wash the tools they had. 

 

Thinstreak didn’t look too happy about that, but really, he always looked like someone had rammed a glass rod up his spike and broken it. He cleared his throat, and Haven paused in washing tools for just a moment. Then, he went back to washing. After a long moment of silence, Haven put the tools on the drying rack and turned around, scowling. “Well? Are you going to say your piece and  _ leave _ me in peace, or no?”

 

Thinstreak snorted, and his hands remained tightly clasped behind his back. It wound his spinal struts tight, making his posture ramrod straight, as opposed to Haven’s gentle, tired slouch. The warden took a breath, and spoke, quietly to match the quiet in the clinic. “It has come to my attention-”

 

“Are you aware you sound like a villain in a bad melodrama?” Haven interrupted, and Thinstreak’s engines revved.

 

“Quiet!”

 

“You should have those engines checked, by the way,” Haven added, almost boredly, and Thinstreak looked about to pop. “Doesn’t sound healthy.”

 

“Will you  _ shut up? _ It has come to my attention that-”

 

“Say please.” 

 

There was a very quiet  _ thwop _ noise and a thin veneer of smoke trailed out of one of the warden’s vents, as he shook very delicately. The muscle cables in his neck flexed, and all in all, Haven was having too much fun with this. Thinstreak continued, trying to keep his tatters of composure. “I’ve discovered that you have made some… unsavory reports these past few weeks?”

 

“If you meant that I’ve reported all cases of sexual assault that came into my clinic, of which there are an alarming uptick in recent decades, you’d be right,” Haven deadpanned, packing his dry tools back into their drawers as he then began to wipe down the counter. “I don’t take crimes like that lightly. Is there a problem, Warden?”

 

“You know exactly what the problem is!”

 

Haven nodded, mouth shrugging as he straightened from being leaned slightly over the counter. His top left hand left the rag on the counter as his bottom two arms crossed, and he frowned. “What, that it makes you look bad? That you were mentioned in some of the reports? Don’t come into my office half-cocked and expect me to coddle you. I’m tired. Good night.”

 

“I’m not finished!”

 

“I bet you’re not,” Haven muttered bitterly, going back to cleaning the counter. Two seconds in, he gave up, entire frame looking heavy with exhaustion. “Need to watch someone for _ that. _ ” And with that cutting remark, the medic began to leave, making it to the door.

 

Thinstreak cried out in outrage, swiping the blaster from his hip and pointing it at Haven’s helm. The medic paused, back still turned to the warden, and tilted his head just so Thinstreak could see the quirk of his mouth. “What are you going to do, shoot me? Go right ahead -- you’ll have to deal with those reports, because they’re on a deadman’s switch, but be my guest.”

 

“One of these days,” Thinstreak snarled, and put the blaster away. 

 

Haven harrumphed. “That a promise, Warden?” he called as he left the room.

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


Solitary was living hell. At first, Gadget just found herself sleeping. Full cubes of energon were left at the slat in the door to be collected at next ration and swapped out, and the empuratee rarely drank from them. She found herself often simply just curling up on the floor in random places rather than using the meager cot provided, offlining her visor. Then, shapes started moving around in the dark, some looking like people, and that was when offlining her visor no longer helped. Things were still moving -- shifting, sliding over each other, and the darkness was a horrific sort of grotesque alive. She tried everything -- scanning frequencies, looking through video feeds, investigating files, coding. 

 

Those shadows writhed just in front of her, all around her, and she crammed herself deep into a corner to keep her back safe. Light speared the room and Gadget flinched at it, as a cube was pushed in. Her tanks pinged her as nearly empty, and she rushed forwards, sucking it down so fast that her tanks hurt afterwards. So she crawled a little distance away, hobbling a little because her valve was still so, so sore, and laid down on the floor. Time was meaningless here, even if she did have a chronometer on her HUD. It said that six days had passed, but Gadget knew it was lying. There was no way it had been six days -- it had to have been only an hour. It had to have been the longest hour in all of history. She hadn’t soundly slept since the beginning of the hour, scared of those dripping shadows reaching for her. 

 

She passed out lying halfway on her front on the floor.

  
  


\----------------------------

  
  


“No sleep,” Haven’s cranky voice snapped, “Hadn’t eaten -- extreme stress levels -- you, sir, are a disgusting piece of work!”

 

Gadget blearily woke, registering her feet in stirrups, and surged, panicking. Thinstreak shouted, and Haven rushed to soothe, all four arms very gently holding her down. “Gadget, Gadget sweetspark, it’s me. It’s Haven, you’re alright. Gadget, stop moving. You’re going to hurt yourself, do you understand? If you don’t stop moving, I’m going to have to restrain you, and I don’t want to do that to you, so let’s just calm down, alright?”

 

Gadget jerked, spark pounding, and stilled, chest heaving with her vents. Haven rewarded her by letting her up, and Gadget noticed that her valve cover was closed. Haven glared at Thinstreak, shooing him with his bottom two hands. “You. Out. Now.”

 

“I am the warden-”

 

“You are a predator and you will not be in this clinic violating my patient’s rights! Out with you!”

 

And with that, Thinstreak slunk out, growling the whole way. Just to be petty, he swatted a tray of bandages off of the table on his way out, and Haven sighed. Then, the medic turned back to Gadget, and held up an index finger on his right top hand. He went over to pick up and sort out the damage, setting it aside for cleaning, and came back over to Gadget. She realized, belatedly, that she had an Energon feed hooked up to her arm, and that it was full of medical grade energon. Haven offered her a very tired, attempting-to-reassure smile. “How are you feeling, honey?”

 

Gadget beeped. “I’M. FINE.”

 

“Could you describe that for me, just so I can get a gauge? You hadn’t slept for nearly six days in a row, and your fuel levels were concerningly low. The guard just brought you in for your weekly checkup. If I feel the need, I can and will argue that you be removed from solitary confinement by reason of detriment to health.”

 

Gadget nodded frantically. “I COULDN’T STOP SEEING THINGS. I WAS TERRIFIED. MY VALVE HURTS, STILL, BUT I THINK IT’S FEELING A LITTLE BETTER.”

 

“Okay, good, I’m glad that’s feeling better. If I can’t get you removed from solitary, I can at least give you some help on getting through it.”

 

“CAN’T YOU JUST TWIST THE WARDEN’S ARM?”

 

“He likes to spite me.” The medic scoffed, and walked around to settle in between Gadget’s legs. “May I take a look?”

 

Gadget nodded, and tilted her helm as she slid her panel back. Cool fingers probed in her valve lips, as his bottom hands snagged a datapad and stylus, writing down observations. “Swelling’s gone down, lacerations to valve opening have scabbed over and started to heal… no longer as inflamed…”

 

The empuratee beeped. “WERE YOU TWO CLOSE OR SOMETHING?”

 

Haven sighed. “We were conjunxed. He was a decent person before taking this job. It’s gone to his head. It’s a very long story, but we finalized splitting the bond a century ago, and we’ve had it out for each other ever since. Well, we’ve had it out for each other even before then, if I’m being honest.”

 

Gadget’s screen fuzzed static. “I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE.”

 

“What are you going to do, jailbreak yourself? The mouth flower’s still attached to your head, in case you forgot. I mean, sure -- just go ahead and transfer yourself.” Haven eyed her in a way that was very tired, and assured Gadget he wouldn’t be speaking to anyone else about this conversation. The empurata shrugged.

 

“I TRANSFERRED CHERMIIN AND I OUT OF GARRUS-9.”

 

“You made a mistake,” Haven said, grimly. “Personally, I would have taken my chances with Overlord.”

 

“HE WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU.”

 

Haven just sent her a lingering, exhausted look that told Gadget all she needed to know. She didn’t verbalize her acknowledgement -- instead, just moved on. “I DIDN’T WANT TO DIE.”

 

Haven muttered something that sounded like, “spend a few years here, and you will,” and sighed as the doors opened and a younger bot came in. “Listen,” he addressed Gadget, “that’s understandable. You did what you could to get you and your friend out, and I’m sorry she ended up on my autopsy table. She didn’t deserve it.”

 

Gadget’s screen fuzzed static. “WHAT, DID YOU KNOW HER?”

 

“You’re late,” Haven tossed over his shoulder at the young one, dark gray plating shining dully in the overhead fluorescents. They apologized and scurried off to a back room. Gadget only caught a glimpse of him, pale plating ducking behind a door. He was vaguely familiar, or at least the blur of him was.

 

“Anyhow,” Haven said, as he took out the speculum and showed it to Gadget before lubricating and gently inserting it, “that’s the past.”

 

“DID. DID YOU KNOW CHERMIIN?”

 

Blue eyes flicked up to her blank visor, glowing between her legs. His mouth pursed, and he sighed through his nose. The cool breath tickled the visored bot’s plating as he looked around furtively. “I used to be a Decepticon,” he murmured, lips barely moving as he widened the speculum. “Worked on the  _ Nemesis _ when she was there. I wasn’t her doctor -- another medic was her GP -- but I’ve met her. She was a kind person. She got promoted and deployed elsewhere. I bailed early on. I went to an Autobot recruitment station and gave my name. They said they’d never heard of me, I said ‘great’ and signed on as an Autobot medic.”

 

“WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS?”

 

“Technically, it’s common knowledge -- the warden hasn’t sold me out out of spite.”

 

Gadget didn’t question what he meant by that. So she shrugged. “I CAN. PROBABLY STILL MANAGE A TRANSFER.” She couldn't, and she knew it. They'd catch her this time. 

 

Haven sighed through his nose as he investigated the internals of her valve, nodding. “Wounds to internal lining have closed...some scarring will happen…” he cleared his throat. “Listen, kid. Where are you gonna go, Messatine? Because that's the closest planet. Good luck with that. It’s not that I don't want you out of here -- god knows you don't deserve to be here, whatever you did -- it’s just that that's suicide.”

 

Gadget relaxed into the cushions. “WE’RE. CLOSE TO MESSATINE?”

 

“Sure are.”

 

“AND YOU'RE AN EX-CON?”

 

Haven paused for a moment, shrugging. “They can come for me if they'd care to. I left before they were created. I'm not hiding.” He stood, putting his tools aside and taking out the nanite gel. He applied a generous helping and waited for his fingers to warm it before gently slipping them inside. It still hurt a little, tender, but it felt a lot better as he applied it to Gadget's valve walls. “Besides, someone’s got to run the clinic -- and no offense to my subordinate, but he’s just not ready yet.”

 

He withdrew fingers from Gadget’s valve and took out the speculum, setting it aside. The empuratee watched him. “DO YOU THINK THERE'S SOMETHING GOING ON AT THIS PLACE?”

 

Haven scoffed. “There’s a lot of things going on at this place.”

 

“WHY ARE THERE SO FEW CONS AT A PRISON THAT SHOULD LOGICALLY HAVE A THREE-TO-ONE BOT-CON RATIO?”

 

The medic sighed, tiredly, and Gadget noticed how his eyes drooped a little more as he cleaned up his tools. By all accounts, he looked dead on his feet. “I have my… suspicions.”

 

“AND WHAT ARE THEY?”

 

“Things that will get you into a lot of trouble if you find out,” Haven rebutted, as Gadget closed her panel and retracted her feet from the stirrups, sitting up on the berth. 

 

“DOES IT HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE STRANGER THAT I MET? OR THE UNSPECIFIED ABSENCE IN THE WARDEN’S ITINERARY TWICE A-”

 

“Keep your voice down,” Haven hissed, scurrying over to her. Even jolted into temporary action, he still looked hopelessly exhausted. “And yes. It has everything to do with that, and I would advise you to keep that to yourself if you want to make it out of here alive.”

 

Gadget studied him. He could have just been trying to shut her up. She tilted her helm, as he seemed to stay still for the scrutiny. The moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. Haven opened it from a button on his wrist, and Gadget’s tanks tightened as the warden strolled in. “I assume she's cleared?”

 

“You assume a lot of things,” Haven muttered, and cleared his throat. “She’s cleared. She has an appointment scheduled for next week, and I’d better see her for it.”

  
  


\------------------------

  
  


The darkness grew conscious, and at first, everything was comfortable and quiet, with nothing but inky blackness. The consciousness wasn’t sure how long it hovered in this limbo, but at some point -- with nothing and everything happening never, and also always -- noises could be heard. It took awhile for the consciousness to realize that they were voices, even if it wasn’t sure how it knew that. Steps and busy noises were a background drone. The consciousness strained to pick up what these voices were saying, but the tongue wasn’t familiar. It was right on the edge of its understanding, but not yet. The consciousness -- perhaps a person (what is a person? How did it know that?) -- was surprised to feel soft bedding beneath it, and weight. A body, maybe (what is a body? How did I know that?); a form to tie it down.

 

Words were clearer now, at the edge of comprehension, teetering, and suddenly made themselves known. “Mkae srue its vtials hlod staedy, will you? We can’t lose this one.”

 

“Vitals holding, sir. It’s showing brainwaves. Optic systems coming online now.”

 

A finger (I have fingers? What are they?) twitched, and the person felt that the blackness was thinning -- it was no longer a murky pond but a thin woven blindfold, scratchy and letting in filtered light. Figures moved around, obscured but unable to come into focus. The air smelled funny, too clean, devoid of other consciousnesses. The person was confused. They could see other people (there are others like me?), hear them -- but the air was bleached barren, like some sort of desert, and it stank. They were cold, suddenly, shivering. (Why am I here?)

 

“Give it a blanket,” Someone ordered, and a piece of something not unlike the film covering their eyes was draped over them, warming their body (Why am I in this body? How am I here? What’s going on?) and lessening their shivers. The next thing to fade into being, gnawing at them, was confusion more pervasive than the mild wonderment felt earlier. There were so many questions, and she still couldn’t see very well. Where were they? Why were there others like her, and how had they gotten here? How had she gotten here, on this berth (how did I know what I’m laying on?), and… most pressingly… 

 

(Who am I?”’

 

Voices shouted, chattering so fast that she lost comprehension of them again. Something about how it was alive -- (what is alive?) and it was already speaking, they were asking her so many things, their voices turning up, the noises overwhelming her brain --

 

“Everybody back off!” One person shouted, and the noise stopped, as if hanging by a thread that could be snapped by a sigh. Nary a vent could be heard, and something beeping shattered the silence. It fell again, immediately afterwards, and the person squinted, light screaming past the woven blindfold, taking over her vision. It hurt. It was so bright. 

 

“Optic systems running at optimal range,” someone whispered. Someone else cleared their throat. 

 

“Can you hear me?”

 

The person on the berth wet her lips, hesitating, and took a breath. Someone loomed into her vision, blocking out the light, and her eyes watered in relief as she stared up at him. Her optics reflected off of his face, and were such a pretty color; warm and sweet, and for a second she felt a flicker of something -- something old, something past. It was gone as soon as it came and it left her needing more, craving knowledge. She opened her mouth again. “Where am I?”

 

“You’re at a laboratory, on a mudball planet near Kyrant-X.”

 

The person’s head spun. Laboratory? Mudball planet? Kyrant-X? There were so many new things. Her head hurt. The person above her frowned, and a hand came into view. “Here, you’re confused. You’ve only just woken up, you’re not even minutes old. War-born, newly forged. Come, let’s get you off of this hospital table and I can show you your accommodations. You’ll need to stay awhile, so we can monitor your health.”

 

He seemed to speak a little slower than he had been, and the person was grateful for it. She allowed herself to be coached off of the berth, gasping when her feet touched the floor. It felt so strange to put weight there, at first. “Do I… stand up?”

 

“Go ahead, try it,” The scientist urged, awe and urgency in his eyes. So she did, unsteadily hoisting herself off of the bed and balancing on her two feet. She wobbled, nervous, arms flailing a little, before steadying, arms still held out warily. After a moment, she looked around.

 

“How… did I know to do that?”

 

“We’re just that good,” the mech said, and smiled at her. She gripped his hand tight, looking down at her feet. 

 

“Now… what do I do?”

 

“Walk with me, and I’ll show you your room. Just put one foot in front of the other, like that. Just like that, excellent!”

 

Soon, they were walking down the hallway, and the person allowed her hand to slip from his, confident enough in her own abilities to walk by herself. “So you said I have to stay here? So you can monitor my health?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Am I sick?”

 

“You’re new,” the scientist corrected, smiling. “Just forged. We weren’t sure you were going to pull through.”

 

The person frowned. “But… who am I?”

 

“That, you’ll have to figure out for yourself. I can’t tell you who you are just as you can’t tell me who I am. You have to know that yourself. It’s hard. A lot of old mecha don’t know who they are. You’ll get it.”

 

He stopped at a door in the hallway, and palmed it open. It was just like every other door in the hallway, and the person frowned in confusion. “How… do I know which one is mine?”

 

“It will only open for you,” the scientist said, and ushered her in. She gaped. The room was spacious, with nice floors and a homey atmosphere. A window-wall spanned the wall opposite the door, showing a mountainside slope with -- with --

 

“What are those blue, tall things, all down the mountain? They’re glowing.”

 

“Oh, those? Those are trees. Lots of stuff is bioluminescent around here, since the sun has frequent eclipses that last for months. The sunrise is due in a week or so. You should see it, really. They’re just sublime here. Spectacular.”

 

“I think I will,” the person murmured, taking in her reflection in the window. A skirt of metal plating fanned around her hips, open at her codpiece, and fell to her knees in the back. Her top half was bulky in the chest, like a boat’s -- hull? (How do I know that?) But her arms were relatively thin. Her plating was awash with that brilliant, warm color, and the tugging came back, more insistent this time. She touched her face with clawed fingers. “Who… am I? What am I?”

 

“You’re a miracle, is what you are,” the scientist mumbled distractedly, scribbling something down on a datapad. “You should rest. That bed should be a lot more comfortable."

 

“I just woke up, and you want me to go back to sleep?”

 

“You just came  _ online,” _ the scientist explained. “Before about a half hour ago, you didn't exist. Your systems need time to adjust. Trust me. Lay down and close your optics, it’ll come to you. My name is Quickwit -- press the button by your bedside if you need anything during the night, okay?”

 

“Okay,” the person agreed. “How do I know when to get up?”

 

Quickwit scribbled something else. “We’ll come get you for more tests in the morning. In the meantime, get some sleep, if you can. I know it's a lot to take in.”

 

After he left, the person turned back to the shiny glass, hands coming to rest on it. She stared herself down, frowning. 

 

“Who are you?” she whispered to her reflection, and it asked the same question of her. She didn't know what answer to give it, and she doubted it had one for her either. What had Quickwit called her?

 

“Miracle,” she parroted, tasting it. She wrinkled her nose. Something about it felt wrong, off. It wasn’t quite right. It didn't scratch the itch. “Miracle.”

 

Miracle woke up late her first morning, still confused and lost in thought. Her first day was new and odd, slogging through tests and getting her first taste of energon. It was good. She returned to her room later that night having learned that the name of the warm, sweet color she liked was named orange. It gummed up her teeth and stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she could chew on it for ages. That night, watching the “trees" glow, she stared outside. What was out there? Were there even more people like her? Was orange a natural color, or was everything blue? She had so many questions. She wanted to go outside. 

 

Not today, she told herself. She was still new.

 

The third night, she didn't go to sleep. Instead, questions gnawing heavy at her spark (what’s that?), she left her room and crept down the halls, searching for the exit. 

 

When she found one, two guards stood in front of it, and it was clear they weren’t letting anyone out. Miracle wasn't sure why, but as she held a pebble one of the nurses had given her and threw it a little ways down another hallway, she did notice that they seemed very angry. They stormed after the pebble talking about pranks and Miracle slipped out the door, breaking into a run with her new legs. A few strides in, she stumbled, and went rolling down the hill, bouncing at a breakneck speed. At first, she screamed, frightened. But as she rolled and tumbled, exhilaration of the new gripped her, and she began to laugh, shrilly as the wind was ripped from her lips. As she tumbled to a stop at the foot of the hill, wheezing, she took the time to lay there, enshrouded in glowing blue trees and smaller, also glowing trees. They looked different. Were all trees just trees? The sky peeked out from gaps in the trees, tinged something rich called purple. Something stirred in her at the sight, and she glanced back the way she’d came. Broken trees littered the path and she winced. She hoped they were okay. They were still glowing! Maybe that was a good sign!

 

Something in the little trees rustled, and some sort of creature crept from the undergrowth. Miracle sat up, and beamed, reaching a hand out to nudge it. It skipped away from her hand, and lost its footing further down, falling down the slope further. Miracle got to her feet and chased it.

 

When she caught up, it was lying still, head next to an outcropping of rock. Some sort of green substance was painted on the rock, and she knelt by the thing to inspect, nudging it with her finger. It didn't stir. The same green substance leaked from the back of its head, near the base. Miracle frowned, sitting back on her heels. She wasn't sure what was going on. She had never seen anything like this.

 

Gently, she scooped up the creature, noticing how it felt limp. She bounced it ever so gently to rouse it, and when that didn't work, gently set it back down. Perhaps it was new -- needing sleep, like her. She searched around for a blanket. Finding none, she reached out to the glowing, broad, live datapad attached to a stalk and snapped it off, noticing the soft, leathery texture of the round datapad. It glowed pink.

 

She draped it over the creature, and turned her head at a soft collection of cries, further up the mountain where she had been before. She scaled the cliffs, shivering a little in the crisp night air, and found herself at the plateau again, brushing aside other glowing datapads all shapes and sizes. Trees sure had a lot of them, and there were a lot of trees. Bewildered, she reached out to tap her claw to one of the bigger screens, a broad, low-to-the-ground tree like she’d seen further down the hill. It did nothing but flinch and sway gently in response, and nothing on the screen changed. That was strange. She grasped it, gently, rubbing it between her fingers and taking in its soft texture. Perhaps they weren’t datapads at all, but a very strange type of blanket, and that was why it had worked so well to drape over the creature. But it simply didn’t make any sense to grow blankets as small as the ones on the taller trees. But then again, maybe there were different creatures that really grew that small. She moved on, still a little confused.

 

She found the source of the noise -- a circular little berth, with three smaller creatures like the one at the rock. It was lined with fluff and a lot of crinkly, still faintly-glowing tiny blankets, and she  _ ahh’ed _ out loud. So that was what the tiny blankets were for! These smaller creatures had six legs and noses that drooped, legs leading to sturdy, flat feet. They squeaked, and shook as she scooped them up. The bigger one must have been watching them -- clearly, these were new, like her! Miracle would watch them for the creature while it slept. She hoped it wouldn’t be asleep for very long (she was so new that she barely knew how to take care of herself, much less other new people), but just in case, she made sure to leave a trail. Her journey carried her further down the mountainside, until the foothills leveled out and she noticed signs of life rising from a little ways away. The trees stopped growing so tall just in front of her, a little ways away, and she leaned against the broad trunk of the one next to her, careful not to scrape the arms of it.  The newlings squirmed in her own arms, squeaking, and she flared her plating a little to dump heat. They had to be getting cold, they were shivering. She did her best to warm her own temperature, and they seemed to settle down. Nervously, she looked over her shoulder at the trail she had left behind, and wondered how long it took for something to sleep. It seemed like she didn’t need to sleep very long at all -- she just closed her eyes and opened them again -- but the clock always read hours’ difference. It was all so confusing. With all of these new things happening at once, her head was starting to ache all over again. Munching noises came to her attention, and she looked down to see one of the little ones craning its neck to chow down on a blanket just within its reach.

 

“No!” Miracle gasped, moving away. The newling began to cry, wailing. She shushed it, at a loss for what to do. “Blankets aren’t for eating!”

 

Were they? Cautiously, she crept back up to it, leaning up to one more her height. Munching noises below her resumed, and she carefully bared her own fangs to take a bite and rip off a section, chewing it like she would an energon candy. She made a face. It wasn’t very good at all, and she didn’t like it. She spat it out, and looked down at the little ones, who had all found a blanket to tuck into and were happily chewing away. “Maybe they’re for eating? They aren’t very good. Am I supposed to eat them? Wouldn’t Quickwit tell me if I was? Maybe they’re like taking your medicine.”

 

The newlings didn’t answer her, just grunted contentedly as they chewed. As she cautiously moved away, she sighed in relief when no protests were heard, and continued. She came out of the tall trees only a few seconds later, looking up to see the sky in all of its glory. She nearly fainted. 

 

Vast, expansive, stretched out above her like a dome of rich, illustrious purple. A huge black hole covered the sky, lighter purple barely peeking out around it, and no stars were visible in the dark section. It was almost as if they had been swallowed up like candies, gulped down whole like Miracle had tried to swallow one. She had choked. Stars peeked out around the giant darkness, in the lighter purple, and she had to have stood there for hours marveling at the sky. She didn’t understand all of the enthusiasm Quickwit had been showing about sunrises. When the night sky was this -- this pretty, who needed anything else? She felt that she could stand here forever, counting every star, and never get bored. She felt like she was seeing it for the first time. She was! At least, the first time not through a window. It was so fresh, not like the sterile lab, where everything was temperature controlled and perfectly in order. It felt like other people lived here. It felt like it could be home.

 

Her attention was brought back down to the ground when the newlings squirmed in her arms, whimpering and shivering some more. She needed to get them to some warmth, and maybe the -- the -- lab assistant? Guard? Would come soon. When she squinted to the horizon in front of her, she noticed a pinprick of light, and began walking, snuggling the little ones closer. Light meant people! People meant nice things! 

 

Along the way, she stepped over canyons and forded rivers, hoping the trail she was leaving would show that’s where she went. The pinprick of light grew closer, and multiplied like stars, making Miracle wonder if stars had gotten bored in the sky and come down to visit. Or perhaps they were lamps, like she had in her room. But how would they get power all the way out here? She didn’t see any evidence of machines or computers, or batteries or energon sources. All she saw was the carpet of very small, individual glowing trees. They didn’t look like other trees -- they seemed to be all blanket, a long thin blade that waved in the night air and glowed a soft turquoise. She waded through them, coming closer and closer, and the pinpricks started to take shape. They were white-orange, making her sparkbeat quicken, and they danced as if they had entered into a dare to dance all night until they couldn’t dance any more. As the dancers took shape, Miracle recognized it as fire -- Quickwit had shown her a much smaller version of the same thing with something he called a burner. This, though… this was spectacular. It hypnotized her, and she subtly swayed with it in an attempt to harmonize, mouth hanging open. The more she looked, buildings came to shape around it, and she perked up. More people! People like her! So she wasn’t alone in that lab!

 

She surged forwards again, wading a little more enthusiastically, and paused when she heard something strange. They were words she didn’t recognize, but… she also didn’t recognize the tone. It wavered up and down and all around, high in some places and low in others, and she couldn’t figure out why two people needed to say the same thing at once in two different tones. She couldn’t deny that it sounded very nice, and she stopped to listen a little more, even humming along by the time she got moving again. Soon, people came into focus. 

 

They were around three quarters of her height, with two legs and two arms. They had thick draperies over themselves, presumably to keep out the cold, and Miracle thought it was very resourceful of them to make blankets that stayed on your body without having to hold them. This would be a very good place to leave the newlings. They would be warm, and fed! These people sat in a loose circle around the fire, with some holding their hands out to warm them, and another group further away was close together and talking in that funny, pitched way to each other. But the smiles on their faces indicated that it was a very nice conversation, and so Miracle was really glad for them. They seemed to be good friends.

 

As she came into the central firelight glow, several people noticed her and screamed, causing the rest to look in her direction and scream as well, running a little ways away from her. They were pointing at her and shouting, speaking something she didn’t understand, and she wondered if she had forgotten how to speak. She tried it. “Hello?”

 

They stopped shouting, watching her with wide eyes, and she tried again. “Hello? I’m from up the mountain, and… and I don’t really know who I am. Do you know me? My name might be Miracle.”

 

One of the people responded, in that language she didn’t understand. Maybe… other languages also existed? But then, how did people keep track of other ones? How many other languages were there? How did everyone learn them? When would she learn the other ones in the lab? When was she going to be told about them? This seemed like something she would have to know. Something on her HUD flashed, and she read it. It said, “Language detected; Tuskiolei. Download lexicon?” and she hummed, little ones squirming in her arms. She decided to go ahead and download it. Maybe this would help her. As it downloaded, she watched the bar go up, and when it hit a hundred percent, the silence stretched a little longer before one of the other people spoke up. “Why… are you here?”

 

“I fell down the mountain,” Miracle replied, astounded that she understood. So this is what that popup had meant! She was learning more out here than she ever did in the lab! “I fell down the mountain from the lab and I don’t know who I am. I keep asking, but nobody will tell me.”

 

The group nodded, eyes wide and watching her, and she saw herself reflected. The fire glowed off of her plating, dyeing even grayer parts a burning orange, and she saw the harsher side of orange revealed. It was eerily beautiful. The same person spoke up. They had some kind of crown on their head. “Sit down with us, and we can try to help you.”

 

“Really? You would do that? That’s so nice of you,” Miracle gushed, breaking into a smile, and sat where she stood, legs crossing. The newling creatures squirmed in her arms. “And… um, can you help me with something else?”

 

“Anything you ask,” the leader (head scientist, maybe?) said gravely. 

 

“Can you watch over these for me? I found them, and I need help.”

 

The leader nodded, smiling back at her. “Of course. Give them over and we’ll take care of them.”

 

“Thank you so much,” Miracle fawned, handing them one by one to people who came up to grab them. The little ones were whisked away to be cared for, and she breathed a sigh of relief, arms dropping into her lap. The leader sat as well, as the group settled down back into their seats. She spent nearly the whole night with them, until their “festival” was over, and they excused themselves to go sleep. Chermiin got up, turning around, and smiled brightly, excited to do some more exploring. She’d have to go back to the lab eventually, but she was having so much fun that she figured she could just take another hour… 

 

She started off for the river again, intending to splash around in the cool water.

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


Quickwit sighed as he waited outside of the asset’s door, knocking again. “It’s time to get up,” he called, “You’ve got your first weapons testing today.”

 

No answer -- he sighed harder, irritated, and started to punch in the code. Having someone who was basically a newframe in an adult’s frame around was turning out to be the most obnoxious thing Quickwit had ever dealt with in his life. It was constantly asking questions -- and when Quickwit said constantly, he meant it. The asset asked about  _ everything! _ Quickwit wasn’t entirely sure why the asset had skipped the protoform stage entirely, but he suspected it had something to do with the ununtrium in its spark.

 

The door opened, revealing an empty room, and Quickwit’s spark dropped. The shipformer was the first successful experiment he’d produced -- it couldn’t just be gone. He took off down the hall, making a beeline for security, and threw open the door, startling the attendant. “Feeds from this past night,  _ now!” _

 

“Yes sir!” They squeaked, pulling up the security feeds requested. “Starting from?”

 

“From when I put the asset to bed,” Quickwit demanded, leaning over the chair. “I can’t find it.”

 

“Yes sir,” they nodded, pulling up the specific footage with a few keystrokes. “See, you walk out here… I’ll speed up in ten minute intervals until we see something.”

 

The door opened, and Quickwit surged to point at the screen. “There! What’s it doing?”

 

“Tracking her with the camera,” the security monitor said, following the shipformer down the hall with the security cameras. Quickwit watched with bated breath, and nearly exploded when the two dumb brutes simply walked away from their post, allowing the asset to just  _ slip out of the facility! _

 

“I’m going to feed them to a rhynuck,” Quickwit said, gnashing his teeth, “I want a security team out looking for it now!” He put two fingers to his audial. “Security team one, I want you outside heading west, looking for the asset! Do  _ not _ alarm it, do you understand? This is a Phase Sixer on the loose that doesn’t know its own abilities. Reign it in --  _ gently!” _

  
  


\----------------------------

  
  


A century in, Gadget was nearly as bitter as Haven. She’d seen round after round of Cons come and go, and after a while, the faces all blurred together. She’d stopped trying to find the identity of that stranger, and what was going on -- she just focused all of her energy on surviving Garrus-10. She’d spend the majority of the past century in solitary confinement -- it was a wonder the warden hadn’t just moved her there permanently. She suspected the only reason he hadn’t was that that was illegal.

 

As the empurata sat by herself at a table for morning refuel, she kept her gaze trained on the tabletop, slurping the ration distantly through her proboscis. A hand reached down and attempted to snatch it from her, and she responded by flinging the near-empty cube away and spinning to face the perpetrator. She landed a solid clock on their cheek, and they pushed her away on instinct so she went staggering. As the prisoners around them took interest, Gadget hopped up on the table for higher ground, and picked up her chair, hefting it and throwing it at her opponent. They batted it aside, and advanced, growling, as the ferocious murmuring around them increased in tempo and volume until it was shouting. 

 

Gadget’s opponent attempted to lay hands on her and she planted a heel directly into their nasal ridge, crumpling it with a resounding clang. Before she could get her other leg under her, an unknown hand wrapped around her ankle and yanked, and her back hit the table with a bang as the crowd cheered viciously. Whoever had grabbed her ankle held on, and someone attempted to get her in a headlock to hold her still. The crowd cheered again as Gadget released her datacable, homing in with lightning speed on the bot’s left bottom eye. They had four of them -- or, more accurately, as Gadget sank her claws into the socket and spun them -- three of them.

 

The person howled and let go, head wrenching back to escape the pain. In doing so, their optic was plucked directly from their helm, optic nerve dripping, and Gadget immediately wheeled around and pelted her original assailant with it, attempting to get back to her feet. It hit them squarely between their two eyes. Guards rushed forwards, but they were kept at bay by the frothing crowd, all desperate for entertainment and bloodshed. As Gadget stood, she swiped someone’s tray out from under their ration, and, as her attacker rushed forwards, brought it down hard over their head, breaking it clean in two. They crumbled to the ground, groaning, and Gadget’s vents heaved as she stood victorious, even if only for a moment -- the guards had managed to break through the crowd, and wrangled her to the ground in a flurry of her kicking legs and flailing arms.

 

She ended up perched neatly in her waiting chair in the clinic, claws balanced on her lap. The bot missing an eye was moaning quietly, hunched over with a hand over his face. The wound was surprisingly clean.

 

Gadget couldn’t quite be sure what she was feeling, other than the fact that her screen had a crack across it. Nothing, mostly. Perhaps a taste of… she didn’t know. She couldn’t be sure whether it was guilt or irritation. Whatever it was, it was strangely clinical and distant, and Gadget brushed it aside as Haven shuffled in tiredly, pausing to look over his new patients. Gadget tilted her helm as his eyes flicked back and forth, and he sighed. “Another fight, Gadget?”

 

She nodded serenely. He just threw up one pair of hands and scoffed, rolling his eyes. Then, he gestured to the three-eyed bot and waved him over. “Well, come on then. Let me see how bad it is, sweetspark.”

 

He got up, one hand outstretched to blunder his way forwards as he blubbered over to the doctor. Haven helped him up on the berth, and with soothing words, coaxed his hand away from his eye socket. Gadget felt a strange wash of jealousy. It was cut off by alarm as Haven cried out in disgust. “Another enucleation, Gadget? Really?”

 

Gadget shrugged. “HE HAD ME IN A HEADLOCK.”

 

“Primus,” Haven muttered, inspecting the eye socket. “Well, it’s damn near surgical. Do you -- I can’t believe I’m having to ask this -- do you have your eye with you, dearest?”

 

“Mm-mn,” the bot sniffled. “S-she threw it at the other guy, and it got crushed in the fray.”

 

“Oh good, it got crushed in the fray,” Haven quipped perkily, sending a very pursed-lip stare Gadget’s way as his eyes widened to intensify the stare. Both sets of arms crossed. “Throwing eyeballs at people? What’s gotten  _ into _ you?”

 

“Pardon me for interrupting, sir,” the bot on the table cut in, as Gadget shrugged again. “But I think Unicron has.”

 

“Hush, you, only I’m allowed to rag my patients,” Haven scolded, gathering materials to patch over the eye. “Unfortunately, I don't have any spare eyeballs lying around, honey. You’re going to need a patch.”

 

“I’m going to be down an eye?”

 

“Sadly, yes.”

 

The whimpering bot looked at Gadget, tears brimming. “You’re a monster, you know that? No wonder the warden keeps you locked away like a mechanimal-"

 

Gadget jumped to her feet in an instant, plating puffed up and rattling, and everything happened very quickly. Two clinic guards aimed their guns at her, as the other patient screamed and Haven shouted, putting himself in the middle of it all with all four arms extended, glancing between all parties. The situation screeched to a very precarious halt, and several sets of engines purred. Gadget revved hers in challenge, plating rattling once more. She found herself looking to Haven. He extended a placating hand, keeping eye contact with her. “Gadget? Gadget, please sit down. I will not ask you again. I will be with you in a moment, do you understand me? There are no fights in my clinic. This is a safe zone for everybody. You would want the same courtesy afforded to you.”

 

Gadget’s plating slowly deflated, but she didn’t sit down, wary of the guns. She found herself unsure, staring at Haven’s deep gaze for direction. He nodded, tone growing firmer. “Gadget? Sit. Down.”

 

Slowly, she sat, and the guns went down. But the guards were significantly more on edge.  The patient on the berth was crying again, huddling against Haven when he came back over. A few minutes were spent soothing, and then the eyepatch was applied. The kid was doped up on painkillers and sent on his way -- Gadget thought briefly of the young MTO she’d met, and what happened to him. It was very fuzzy.

 

Haven sighed heavily, and patted the table. “Come on up, you.”

 

Gadget rose, and clicked her way over, trilling quietly in greeting. She hopped on the berth and allowed Haven to inspect her cracked screen. He was quiet, and Gadget sensed disappointment in his EM field, or something like it. Reading people was hard when you’d spent most of the last century alone in your own head with only delusions in the dark as company. Her suspicions were confirmed as Haven sighed. “You’ll be going in the hole for this, you know.”

 

Gadget puffed air through her vents as a snort. “I WAS GOING TO END UP THERE NO MATTER WHAT.”

 

Haven swatted her arm, and she jumped. The guards trained guns on her again. Haven turned around, waving them off. “Easy, easy! Primus, you have itchier trigger fingers than Megatron.” 

 

The doctor turned back to Gadget. “Look. The whole idea is to keep your head down so you can skate on by. It’s not as if I don't enjoy your little visits, but I’d really enjoy not having to patch you up every week. And don't even get me started on having to fix your handiwork. What is it with you and eyes? Ugh, don’t answer that. Does this hurt?”

 

He tapped the crack in the screen gently, and Gadget flinched. She hated people touching her screen. “JUST A LITTLE.”

 

“Okay, sweetspark. Thanks to this whole visor thing being basic skill level, we actually have a few extra. I can fit you for one right now.”

 

Gadget woke up on her seventh consecutive day in solitary to the door creaking open, the guard standing harshly silhouetted in the light. She dimmed her optic feedback as her visor adjusted, and rose from laying on her side to propped up on one elbow. “WHAT.”

 

“Warden wants you in his office. There’s someone here to see you.”

 

Gadget puffed out a snort. “YEAH. RIGHT. THIS PRISON DOESN’T EVEN HAVE A VISITATION SERVICE. OR A ROOM FOR THAT.”

 

“Special case,” the guard growled. “Now get up, before I beat the shit out of you.”

 

Gadget got up slowly, screen fuzzing. She hacked into the warden’s office cameras, but no one was there. The warden’s chair was empty, as were the two chairs in front of the desk. But, experience told Gadget that he could’ve just looped the feeds. 

 

Was it  _ that day  _ already? Though, solitary did make time pass oddly quickly.

 

Gadget followed the guard all the way to the warden’s office, where he obscured the keypad with his body as he typed it in. Gadget resisted the urge to laugh. Hacking that lock was sparkling’s play. 

 

The door opened, and Gadget was pushed inside. She was immediately greeted by raspy yapping, and a mangy turbofox jumped up on her, tail wagging so hard it threatened to uproot the animal’s back feet. 

 

“That’s my good boy,” a vaguely familiar voice cooed, sickly sweet. Gadget glanced up to see a vaguely familiar face, missing eyes creating black holes for eye sockets. She tilted her helm, running his face through facial recognition databases. She was coming up empty, which was inherently suspicious; it appeared he was wearing some sort of signal jammer on his person.

 

“Sit down like a civilized person, if you would,” Thinstreak snapped at Gadget, and she held up a claw, gaze trained on the stranger. 

 

“I KNOW YOU FROM SOMEWHERE. BUT THERE IS NO INFORMATION ON YOU THAT I CAN FIND. WHO ARE YOU?”

 

“Presumptuous, isn’t she,” the stranger tossed at the warden, smiling as if he was oddly proud and feeling very cheerful. Thinstreak was not looking so pleased; again, it looked like someone had shoved a glass rod up his spike and broken it with a firm rap on the middle of the upper side. 

 

“Gadget, you weren’t called in here to ask questions, you were called in here to answer them. Sit down. If this goes well, I will consider aborting your solitary confinement.”

 

Gadget sat, and the turbofox panted excitedly, overjoyed to see her. It was terribly affectionate for something she only vaguely remembered seeing. She halfheartedly flared her plating at it. “I DON’T. HAVE FOOD FOR YOU. MUTT. I CAN’T GIVE YOU ANYTHING.”

 

“Oh, try one of these,” the stranger said, and pulled an energon treat out of his subspace, handing it to her. “Tell him to sit first.”

 

Feeling quite odd, Gadget did as told, allowing the stranger to coach her through the very specific ritual of giving a pet a treat. (The empuratee would have just thrown it to the thing, but nobody in Carthex really had pets. Everyone just threw scraps at the feral strays rooting around in the garbage.)

 

“Oh! Hold it up, like that, see him watching you? You’ve got his attention now, so tell him to sit. Go on.”

 

“UH. SIT. DOGGIE.”

 

The creature sat, tail wagging as it slavered with barely contained anticipation. Gadget started to lower the treat and it got up. The stranger stopped her, holding her wrist. A zing of charge made itself known. “Wait, he has to stay seated and he knows it, the rascal. Sit!”

 

The pet sat. The stranger let go of Gadget’s wrist, and while the turbofox didn’t get up, it did crane its sniffing nose to the treat, clearly doing its level best to be a good boy. When the treat got close enough, it leaned perilously far (but still stayed seated) and took the treat with surprisingly gentle teeth. The stranger cooed, and Thinstreak sighed at his desk, quietly but long-sufferingly.

 

“Doesn’t he have the softest mouth?” the stranger praised, nodding at his pet as he locked eyes with the thing. “Doesn’t even nip. He’s a good boy. Who’s a good boy? Is it you?”

 

Excited, the turbofox jumped up and barked, butt waggling. Thinstreak cleared his throat, and the stranger straightened.  _ “Fine. _ Gadget, dear, we are having an awful lot of trouble finding these two inmates that need a transfer, and we hoped that you might be able to do it for us since you’re reportedly so excellent with computers.”

 

“MAYBE,” Gadget said, flatly. “WHERE ARE THEY BEING TRANSFERRED?”

 

“That’s classified,” Thinstreak said, instantly, and all of Gadget’s old suspicions came rushing back. But if she could get into Thinstreak’s terminal, she could plant an Iaconian equinoid and have access to the  _ warden’s computer terminal. _ An opportunity like that was once in a lifetime for someone like her, and probably wouldn’t be offered again.

 

So Gadget did what she was quickly finding she did best. She shoved suspicion and empathy aside, got up, and crossed to stand behind the warden. “IT’S FASTER IF I DO IT DIRECTLY.”

 

“Absolutely not,” Thinstreak snapped, “That’s a security violation-"

 

“AND THIS WHOLE LITTLE LOVEFEST YOU HAVE GOING ISN’T?” Gadget questioned, crossing her arms. “WHAT, YOU HONESTLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THAT THIS FUCKO AND HIS RUSTED MANGY TURBOFOX ARE UPPER AUTOBOT MANAGEMENT? HOW STUPID DO YOU THINK I AM? HE HAS A FUCKING DECEPTICON BADGE FOR FUCK’S SAKE. JUST STUFF A SPIKE IN IT AND GIVE ME THE CHAIR.”

 

Gadget was nearly panting after her rant, the room shocked into silence. Thinstreak’s green eyes were wide behind his half moon glasses, and the stranger murmured a very delighted “oh my" as if he was watching a particularly entertaining show.

 

Shocked and momentarily rattled, Thinstreak started to get up. Gadget reached forwards and angrily yanked the chair the rest of the way, causing him to stumble. She sat down and pulled herself to the monitor, plugging her datacable in. Within seconds, she’d crafted a virus, and she slipped it in under the table as she checked through feeds. “YOU’VE GOT ANOTHER TECHIE ON YOUR HANDS. THEY’VE LOOPED THE FEED TO THE E-WING CAMERAS THAT LEAD TO THE EXIT.”

 

“They’re trying to escape?”

 

“TRYING,” Gadget said, and delved into the looping code. The stranger tilted his helm.

 

“You don't seem very concerned about selling out your fellow inmates.”

 

“LIFE SUCKS AND THEN YOU DIE. WHO GIVES A FUCK. I WANT TO KILL EVERYONE IN HERE STARTING WITH THE WARDEN ANYWAYS. OH. THIS IS ACTUALLY PRETTY GOOD CODE. HUH.”

 

“Can you fix it?” Thinstreak snapped, edgy and antsy. 

 

Gadget scoffed through her vents. “RELAX. I’M THE BEST HACKER IN THE QUADRANT, BOT OR CON."

 

“What quadrant?”

 

“YES.”

 

“Then stop bragging and get it done.”

 

“THEN STOP ASKING ME SO MANY DAMN QUESTIONS,” Gadget retorted, picking at a loose thread to unravel. It started out slow, and then all the looped feeds tumbled down, glitching back into working order. “THERE. E-WING, BLOCK FOUR. TWO MECHA. YOU’RE WELCOME.”

 

Thinstreak commed the guards with urgency, and then glowered at Gadget. “Out of my chair, you miscreant.”

 

“Actually,” the stranger drawled, “I’d like to speak to this one privately for a moment. Would you mind terribly, Warden?” 

 

His words were cordial enough, but even Gadget’s lacking social skills could detect the fact that his tone left no choice. Thinstreak started to protest anyways. “But this is  _ my office.” _

 

“Consider it a gift that this office is even allowed to exist along with the rest of this prison,” the stranger snapped, charge crackling on the coils mounted to his shoulders. Thinstreak was cowed immediately, and Gadget blandly watched him scamper over to a door on the west wall and scurry into his private quarters. He shut the door behind himself. 

 

There was silence for a few moments, as Gadget and the stranger eyed each other. He had a sort of… amused neutral expression on his face, as if she were a funny puzzle or a cute doll that he couldn’t quite understand how it ticked. “So. Gadget of Carthex. I did my research after our first meeting. You're almost impressive, for an Autobot. Murdered an unarmed prisoner of war. You were sentenced to half a million years in Garrus 9, but you were transferred here.”

 

“OLD NEWS. WHO ARE YOU?”

 

“You don't really need to know that,” the stranger dismissed pleasantly, waving a hand. “My question is, your transfer record seems off.”

 

“THAT’S LESS OF A QUESTION THAN AN IMPLICATION, BUT I’LL BITE. IT’D PROBABLY BE BECAUSE I PUT MYSELF DOWN FOR TRANSFER.”

 

“Right, right, I remember you saying that now,” the stranger murmured, gold and red paint glimmering in the light. He rested his chin on his fist. “Impressive. Cutthroat, even. You would make a good Decepticon.”

 

Gadget tilted her helm, finials flicking once, and put her feet up on the desk. One after the other,  _ bang bang, _ and they crossed at the ankles. “REALLY NOW?”

 

“I’ll tell you what. My commander told me that if you agree to it, right here and now, we can recruit you. No questions asked, no prejudice. A simple switch.”

 

Gadget’s helm tilted further. “AWFULLY BOLD OF YOU. I’M ASSUMING YOU WOULD BREAK ME OUT?”

 

“A little less messy than that implies, but naturally.”

 

“AND YOU’RE EXPECTING ME TO MAKE SUCH AN IMPORTANT DECISION RIGHT NOW. IMMEDIATELY. AS IN, INSTANTLY RIGHT AFTER YOU RAISED THE SUBJECT WITH YOUR MOUTH.”

 

The mech chuckled. “Shrewd. I like that. The sooner the better, really, but you can have some time to think on it.”

 

“I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE. HOW DO I KNOW YOU EVEN HAVE ANY JUICE?”

 

“Trust me,” the stranger assured, “My team has plenty of…  _ juice. _ Is a direct line to Megatron good enough for you?”

 

Gadget stayed quiet about the fact that she really didn't give a shit about Megatron one way or the other. “WHY ME?”

 

“You’re sharp,” the stranger said. “Clever. Ruthless. You do what it takes to get the job done, consequences be damned. It’s very impressive. We’ve been keeping an eye on you since you and I last met. I had a look at your disciplinary record as well. The… disrespect for authority is a small problem, but that can be fixed. But your fighting skills have bloomed spectacularly for a lab scientist.”

 

Gadget scoffed. “I’M FROM CARTHEX AND THINSTREAK WATCHED A GUARD RAPE ME. IS HE REALLY SOMEONE I SHOULD RESPECT?”

 

“No,” the stranger agreed readily. “I think he’s a coward and a weakling. I do apologize that happened to you, that’s just… not right.”

 

Hearing that hit Gadget with a flood of unexpected validation, and she stayed quiet to process it. The stranger kept talking. “Your prison record would be erased and the charges dropped. Your personal Autobot history can be erased as well, unless you want to keep it -- not sure why you would. Megatron would then decide where to assign you. If you're lucky, he’ll handle that in person.”

 

Gadget nodded thoughtfully. The stranger let her think on it, and apparently decided his pitch was finished for now. “Carthex, hm?”

 

“WHAT, YOU COULDN’T TELL FROM MY VOICE?”

 

“I try not to assume,” the stranger said, almost chiding. “It’s terribly classist. Carthex was strict. I can see it made you strong.”

 

“CARTHEX TESTED MY SPIRITS AND YOU ARE TESTING MY PATIENCE,” Gadget responded, forgetting momentarily about the seemingly sweet offer. The stranger handled it well, mouth shrugging. “My apologies. It’s funny, you… hm. You remind me of a comrade. It’s not important. Think on my offer, why don't you. After all, I come twice a year, and a few months is a short time. You have until then to decide.”

 

Gadget nodded, and the stranger whistled loudly. It made the pet turbofox perk up, tail wagging. “Warden! You can come out now.”

 

A few seconds passed, and Thinstreak came back in. Gadget rose gracefully and crossed back to her original chair.

 

“Are you two done?” Thinstreak said, the bitter jab obvious. He looked a frankly amusing mix of terrified and furious. The stranger opened his mouth to chide, irritated, but Gadget beat him to the punch.

 

“ONE OF THESE DAYS,” she droned, “YOU’RE GOING TO GET A POPUP. AND THAT POPUP WILL SAY ‘LOOK BEHIND YOU’ AND YOU’RE GOING TO BE LIKE ‘OH WOAH, WHAT IS THIS?’ AND IT’S GOING TO BE BECAUSE I’M STANDING BEHIND YOU AND I’M GOING TO MURDER YOU.”

 

A cable in Thinstreak’s neck flexed and bulged as his jaw creaked. “Gadget,” he said, very quietly, and her finials flattened because that was his Truly Angry Voice, “You are going back to solitary confinement. I will have a guard escort you.”

 

Gadget beeped loudly, plating flaring out. She rattled it threateningly along with a challenging growl from her engine, and the stranger broke in, standing up. The turbofox hopped off his lap and scurried over to Gadget, licking her claw in an attempt to placate. “Now, just a minute. Earlier you said if she performed well, she would have her confinement aborted.”

 

“She just threatened to kill me!”

 

“To be fair, you are very killable,” the stranger said, and Gadget resisted the urge to laugh. One of the stranger’s eyebrows went up and Thinstreak quailed, plating slimming down. The red and gold mech kept talking. “If you want her to behave well, then stop punishing good behavior just because you get off on her pain and shame. She has to think about our conversation, and it’s hard to make decisions when locked in a tiny box. Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Crystal,” Thinstreak murmured softly, avoiding the stranger’s gaze. Gadget’s plating finally relaxed, and she caught the stranger’s eye. He winked, an optic shutter flicking down over an empty eye socket. 

 

“Think about what I said, will you, dear Gadget?” the stranger said, almost smiling at her. She nodded slowly, and the stranger turned as if to leave. “Excellent. Warden, have the two escapees you had rounded up taken to the dropoff point. Be punctual; I’ll be waiting.”

 

And he left. Gadget watched the door close behind him, considering his words. She had no guarantee that he wouldn't fuck her over, or even that he had the kind of power he was promising. What, she was just supposed to take him at his word and just walk blindly into an agreement? He’d sweetened the pot too much. There had to be a catch. There always was. Never trust a Decepticon.

 

Or, she realized, as the empuratee found that sounded an awful lot like Thinstreak (and thought of Chermiin), never trust _anybody._ That was an even safer bet. She needed advice. She needed counseling. She needed --

 

“CLINIC,” she demanded, turning her helm to face Thinstreak, who had just opened his mouth to speak. “I NEED TO GO TO THE CLINIC. MY INHIBITOR IS COMING LOOSE. I CAN FEEL THE POINT SCRAPING.”

 

Any excuse of physical pain would have been brushed aside -- Gadget saw the beginning of an angry denial washing away from Thinstreak’s face, replaced by a wary allowance. He nodded. “I’ll take you, I suppose. It's on my way. Follow me.”

 

So she did, and Thinstreak dropped her off in a hurry and rushed on his way. Haven was in today, and his gaze found Gadget and held her. “Something’s wrong. Another fight?”

 

She shook her helm. “AN OFFER. I CLAIMED MY INHIBITOR WAS LOOSE; I NEED A SOUNDBOARD.”

 

Haven, interest piqued, narrowed his eyes, shrugging. “Well, shoot.”

 

“THAT STRANGER WAS BACK TODAY,” Gadget narrated, beginning to pace. “AND HE SPOKE TO ME IN PRIVATE. HE OFFERED TO BREAK ME OUT.”

 

“Don’t take whatever he offered you,” Haven rushed out, waving her over to a berth. “It’s no good. What did he say,  _ exactly?” _

 

“HE. SENT THINSTREAK OUT. AND THEN HE TOLD ME I WOULD MAKE A GOOD DECEPTICON. HE SAID IF I JOINED RIGHT THERE, HE WOULD BREAK ME OUT OF PRISON AND MY RECORD WOULD BE EXPUNGED. HE GAVE ME UNTIL NEXT MEETING TO THINK ON IT.”

 

“Too good to be true,” Haven dismissed immediately, and Gadget nodded. 

 

“I THOUGHT SO TOO. BUT WHY WASTE HIS OWN TIME LIKE THAT, EVEN FOR A GAME? IT COULD BE THE OPPORTUNITY I’M LOOKING FOR."

 

Haven paused in getting his examination tools ready, swiping a clipboard with his bottom hands. “First of all, I’m putting you down for a general checkup, so we have more time to talk. Secondly, it’s time you knew -- really knew -- what goes on around here.”

 

“I THOUGHT YOU SAID KNOWING WOULD GET ME KILLED.”

 

“Yeah, well, at this point  _ not _ knowing is what's gonna get you killed. Look. Have you ever thought why a small, supermax Autobot prison near Messatine is still standing?”

 

Gadget tilted her helm. “IT MIGHT HAVE COME UP.”

 

Haven sighed. “The DJD let this prison stay untouched. Mostly. But that involves a paying of dues, so to speak.”

 

Gadget’s helm tilted the other way, morbid curiosity rising. The air was cool in the clinic. “THE DECEPTICON PRISONERS ARE ON THE LIST. THINSTREAK HANDS THEM OVER.”

 

“Exactly,” Haven murmured, glancing at the cameras subtly. “And he meets with one of the slimy fuckers twice a year to talk business. I almost feel bad for him; he's scum, but who really deserves to dance with the Decepticon Justice Division?”

 

Gadget hummed thoughtfully, swinging her legs. She surfed databases for information on the DJD, and immediately came up with their Autopedia page. Scrolling through until she found a list of its members, she went through them. The fact that this easy-to-access information hadn’t been found when she'd run facial recognition on the stranger proved her hypothesis about some sort of jammer.

 

First off, Tarn. She’d heard he was big; Killer Toaster wasn’t. But Tarn was really the only one she’d heard of in any detail, just vaguely knowing the names of the other ones. She didn't pay attention to the kind of news they were always wrapped up in. She went to Helex’s page, and upon seeing his picture, dismissed him. Tesaurus was next, and quickly discarded with disinterest. Haven was quiet, seemingly content to let her figure it out on her own. She clicked Kaon next, and her finials straightened, quivering. Sockets stared back at her from his picture, complete with that mangy turbofox, which was apparently known as The Pet, and was claimed to be a domesticated sparkeater. 

 

“SO. THINSTREAK MEETS WITH KAON AND SELLS OUT DECEPTICON PRISONERS. AND NOW KAON HAS OFFERED TO BREAK ME OUT IF I JOIN THE CONS.”

 

“Why did he offer that to you? What did he say?”

 

Gadget thought on Kaon’s words. “HE CALLED ME SHREWD, CLEVER. HE SAID I WAS RUTHLESS AND CALCULATING AND THAT I DID WHAT WAS NECESSARY TO GET THE JOB DONE. HE SAID HE ADMIRED THAT AND THAT HE’S GOT PERMISSION FROM HIS COMMANDER -- SO, THAT WOULD BE TARN -- TO RECRUIT ME IF I AGREE.”

 

“I wouldn't touch this offer with a thirty foot girder and I’m suicidal,” Haven said bluntly. “Even if he is looking to recruit you, Decepticons look for blind loyalty, and you ran dry on basic loyalty reserves a long time ago -- no offense.”

 

“I’D KILL SOMEBODY FOR YOU,” Gadget offered, a little hurt. 

 

Haven sighed. “Not what I mean. They want blind loyalty to  _ authority.” _

 

“OH. FUCK THAT.”

 

“Yeah, see? You're already turning up your nose. That'd get you killed.”

 

“BUT…” Gadget started, looking down at her lap, as her finials drooped. She looked up and a little over her shoulder at Haven. “IT MIGHT BE MY ONLY CHANCE TO GET OUT OF HERE.”

 

“It might,” Haven agreed tiredly. “And if you want to take this offer, I’m not going to stop you or even pass judgement. All I’m saying is… be cautious. This is dangerous territory --the DJD love to play mind games. You could just be Kaon’s newest entertainment. This could all be a big joke, with you as the gory punchline. I just don't want to see you get hurt, or worse.”

 

Gadget nodded, and Haven started to perform the checkup. “How much longer do you have on solitary?”

 

“I’M OUT." 

 

“Bullshit. Really? There’s no way Thinstreak would just let you out like that.”

 

“KAON BULLIED HIM INTO IT. I’M NOT COMPLAINING. HE SAID I NEEDED TO THINK ABOUT HIS OFFER AND THAT BEING LOCKED IN A TINY BOX MADE THAT HARD.”

 

“Mm. He’s not wrong, but that’s a blatant attempt to win favor if I’ve ever seen it.” Haven sighed, nimble fingers checking under plating and writing observations down. “Look. If you feel you fit in better with the Cons, who am I to stop you? I think they’ve turned into something repugnant, but it’s also your choice, so my opinion really doesn't matter much. The Autobots have really hung you out to dry -- I get that.”

 

“I DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO BE AN AUTOBOT. I JUST JOINED SO I COULD GET A HEAD AND A PAIR OF HANDS. I FEEL LIKE THEY JUST STRUNG ME ALONG.”

 

“Oh, I have no doubt in my mind,” Haven assured, frowning. “I’m sure that visor was pitched as a half measure, too.”

 

Gadget nodded. “EXPERIMENTAL. BUT NOW, I… I DON'T KNOW IF I COULD EVER GET USED TO HAVING A HEAD AGAIN.”

 

“Mhm,” Haven nodded, humming sympathetically. He put his clipboard aside. “If I were you, I’d take these next few months to think long and hard about where you want to end up, Gadget. And that’s not me, pushing you towards one option or the other -- I mean, really, truly, weigh every option, every outcome. This is pretty serious.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR for those who skipped their triggers (or squicks! whatever reason :>)
> 
> -Gadget and Haven meet, exchange names, and establish a rapport. Gadget goes to solitary and reviews security footage to distract herself and sees a fight between Haven and Thinstreak about how Haven reports all assaults that come into his clinic, even if Thinstreak is mentioned in them.
> 
> -Gadget is brought back to the clinic for a follow-up where she and Haven talk about Chermiin. Haven tells Gadget that he's an ex-con.
> 
>  
> 
> \-----------------------
> 
> So what do you guys think?


	22. Hegira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gadget's prison stay is only getting worse. Chermiin continues her training under Quickwit's guidance, but she can tell something isn't quite right. Finally, after a long stay in the clinic, Gadget returns to her normal life and begins to try and find ways to escape -- at the very least, in her own head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **trigger warnings:**
> 
> **this chapter deals heavily with themes of sexual assault and healing from that throughout. It also has detailed gore and explicit drug use due to poor prison conditions and escapism.**
> 
> **I would heavily advise against reading this chapter if you're even slightly triggered by these things, but I will have a TL;DR at the bottom for you to catch up on. The sexual assault is not shown.**

Gadget’s next meeting on  _ that day _ was awaited with bated breath. She had made her decision -- all that was left to do now was announce it. So when a guard came to take her to the warden’s office directly after breakfast, she went with no protest, heels clicking smartly on the floor behind him. Left out of the mess hall. Straight down the hall for five minutes. A left. A right. Straight down the hall for thirty seconds. 

 

The door. The two guards in front of the door. The guard that had brought her peeled off and walked away. Chromepoint was on the left side of the door -- a younger guard on the right. Chromepoint reached behind himself and rapped his knuckles on the door, smirking, and it opened, revealing Kaon in one seat, and Thinstreak behind his desk. What Gadget had begun to think of as her seat, the one on the right, was empty. She skirted around Chromepoint so dramatically her hip brushed the younger guard’s plating -- he shuffled a step away, murmuring an apology.

 

She crossed the threshold of the door, taking measured, graceful steps. Her claws came up to rest over her midsection, folded austerely over her torso, as she made her way to her seat, sinking down slowly. It was true that Gadget had considered this choice quite a bit. It was true that the Autobots hadn’t done a damn thing for her -- they had hung her out to dry at every opportunity, beaten her with a stick when she stopped dripping. 

 

But there was a sort of twisted mercy in the devil one had close to the chest, and Gadget’s cost-benefit analysis had all pointed in one direction:  _ Future Uncertain -- Too Big Of A Risk. _ And so as she sat next to Kaon after he had finished his business with the warden, she eyed him patiently as he turned to her, face neutrally pleasant. The warden was still at his desk. “So, Gadget. Have you thought about my proposal?”

 

The warden’s eyes cut up over the top of his computer, and Gadget knew what Kaon was doing. Thinstreak would be dying to know what this proposal was. He’d likely be furious if he knew. It was a subtle poke of the iron to get her to move towards the sweetened pot. He knew how to manipulate her environment to hurt her without lifting a finger. But Gadget knew the DJD liked playing with their food -- and as much as Kaon had touted that her record would be wiped clean, she doubted that would be how it went in practice.

 

So she shook her head, slowly. “THANK YOU FOR YOUR INVITATION AND CONSIDERATION. I RESPECTFULLY DECLINE.”

 

Something flitted across Kaon’s face, something unreadable, and then the pleasant expression was back. “Hm. That’s so unfortunate. I had such high hopes. Are you certain?”

 

“What proposal?” Thinstreak cut in, eyes darting back and forth between them. “What are you talking about? Gadget, what is he talking about?”

 

Kaon’s smile turned a little wry, quirking up at one corner like he and Gadget shared a particularly amusing inside joke. His eyelids dropped over his sockets just a tad. “I think we have him a little nervous, don’t you?”

 

Gadget didn’t answer, stiff. Kaon was just poking the fire now, getting the iron hotter. Thinstreak would be the one to strike, with or without Kaon’s stance on the issue. Gadget got the acute sense that he knew exactly what he was doing, and she got the distinct feeling of being played, and it was an ugly feeling. It made her want to rip his face off, see if she could tunnel all the way to his brain through his eye socket. Her claws trembled, just once. Barely a breath of a twitch. The moment hung in the air, so thick a sword could cut it, as Kaon looked at Gadget, and Gadget stared back at him, as Thinstreak anxiously (and with growing anger) looked at both of them. “What does that mean?”

 

“Relax, Warden,” Kaon said, still holding unnerving eye contact with Gadget. She refused to back down, tilting her screen just a little. Her finials fluttered, once. “I just saw… something along the lines of… potential, shall we say, in this model prisoner. I extended her a cordial invitation, nothing else.”

 

“An invitation?” Thinstreak questioned, eyebrows flying up. “Do I want to know where?”

 

“You’re asking that question, so it’s safe to assume you do,” Kaon said, and his voice took on a bit of an edge. “Gadget, tell him what I offered you. Go on.”

 

Faced with no choice, Gadget turned her visor to Thinstreak, forcibly keeping herself calm. “HE OFFERED TO MAKE ME A DECEPTICON.”

 

Thinstreak stayed shocked silent for what seemed like hours, and then he glanced at Kaon. “It’s not enough that you have to bleed me dry twice a year? You’re poaching Autobots now, too?”

 

“If Gadget was someone Autobot high command valued, she wouldn’t be here,” Kaon answered, and the sting of his words was in the truth. Gadget’s finials drooped just slightly, and her deep, hidden disappointment in the candor of his statement was only outmatched by her frustration that it still bothered her. Thinstreak’s mouth shrugged as he nodded, conceding the point. He seemed far too calm. Gadget supposed she’d be in solitary for at least a century for this. 

 

“So, now that that’s done, shall I escort you to the dropoff point?”

 

“Have one of your guards take me,” Kaon said cordially, standing up. “I sense you two need some time to talk.” 

 

Thinstreak eyed him, sitting back in his chair, and Gadget thought she saw something like a thoughtful smile across his face. A moment passed between the two, something Gadget couldn’t decipher, like a code she couldn’t decrypt. It was as if Thinstreak knew his leash was being unclipped. “Let me at least walk you to my door,” he offered, fawning now, and got up, crossing around his desk and escorting Kaon the short way to his door. Two guards still stood outside -- Chromepoint, and that younger hydrofoil. Gadget didn’t know him -- he must have been new. 

 

“Chromepoint,” Thinstreak called, and the guard stood to attention. “Escort our guest to-”

 

Kaon held up a finger, still just barely smiling. “No,” he said after a moment, looking Chromepoint over, and then looking back at Gadget. He turned back to the two guards, glancing at them both. “No,” he said again after a moment, thoughtful, and paused before continuing. “The other one.”

 

Thinstreak glanced back at Gadget too, and his eyes flicked back to Kaon. Something wild was in them, astonished, shocked, as if he wanted to ask if this was really happening but he didn’t want to break the moment. The empurata’s spark took off at a thundering pace.

 

Kaon wasn’t just setting her up for solitary. He was taking her down a thousand pegs rather than just one. She felt like a toppled king, writhing on the bottom, out of options. The look in his eye -- whether or not he knew specifics, he knew something had happened between Chromepoint and her. And he knew it wasn’t good -- he might have pieced it together based on what Gadget told him and the clues he’d gotten when Gadget walked past the guard. His leer, the wide berth she gave him, almost bumping the new guard with her hip in her attempt to swing wide.  _ No, _ Gadget mused, with a sick sense of numb dread, Kaon knew exactly what he was doing, and more importantly, he knew that she understood that. She turned her head forwards, gaze narrowing in to the chronometer on the wall. It was a fancy one. Her claws scraped against each other, testing the sharpness of her edges, and her legs uncrossed and recrossed with the opposite leg on top. There was a suffocating sense of time run out in the air, as Thinstreak bid Kaon a very sweet goodbye.

 

All was silent. The chronometer didn’t make a ticking noise -- it didn’t have that feature. Instead, when the minute was up, the numbers simply switched; quietly, without fanfare. One moment, it read 13:45 -- the next, 13:46, dutifully. Kaon’s words bounced around in her head about her first -- and she knew now that that was only going to be the first -- rape.  _ That’s… not right. _

 

_ Oily fucking bastard, _ Gadget thought, clawtips shaking as the door shut behind her, and two sets of footsteps sounded on the rug.  _ He fucking played me. Damn. _

 

“So,” Thinstreak drawled, and Gadget turned up the sensitivity on her audials, trying to pinpoint exactly where he was behind her. If she could get the gun on his hip, she could drive it under his cockpit and blast out his spark, using him as a shield from Chromepoint’s shots. Then, she could take Chromepoint down with a headshot. She searched a quick, downloadable targeting mod on her HUD, and installed it, quickly. It sat, at the ready. “You thought you could just… wiggle out of here, huh? Betray your faction, sell out, for a quick spring? Chromepoint, can you believe this?”

 

“After all we do?” Chromepoint questioned back, seemingly enjoying this as much as Thinstreak. Gadget would take great pleasure smearing his brain matter on the floor with her foot. “It’s ridiculous.”

 

“Exactly!” Thinstreak cried, and he was right behind her now, hovering over her shoulders as she sat with her arms balanced on the arms of the chair, leaned back in it, frozen. Had it not been for how stiff she was, every muscle cable rigid, she would almost have looked calm. Indeed, she was almost calm. She had cycled past hysteria and into dazed acceptance. If her plan worked -- and that if was  _ huge _ \-- she would die being shot by another guard. “I keep this whole prison standing -- it’s thanks to me you’re even fucking alive to go behind my back like that! I give you all rations, a place to sleep, structure. But you, no, that’s not enough for you, is it? You ambitious bitch. You were really going to cut my throat just to get ahead, weren’t you?”

 

Gadget didn’t answer. The time to spring into action, her window, was quickly fading -- chances of success hadn’t started out high, but they had already dropped to a bitter thirteen percent. Gadget watched it drop, putting it up on her HUD. Thinstreak’s forearms hit the back of the chair as he propped himself on it, his fingertips brushing her shoulders. The temperature of the room dropped like a stone, like Gadget’s tanks, and her chance of success dropped a staggering ten percent in one microsecond. She couldn’t move. Her body wouldn’t answer. She was frozen, doomed to wait for her fate to come to her, and as her last percentage points slipped away as she watched, Thinstreak’s hands clamped suddenly on her shoulders. The bar hit zero.

  
  


\-------------------------------

  
  


“Run it again,” Quickwit called, and Miracle sagged, disappointed.

 

“But-” she started to say, and he hopped off of his little bench, trotting over to her.

 

“You are a  _ killing machine,” _ he said, aggressively poking her in the chest.  “You can’t sit around and pick cyber-daisies all day! You were forged to aid the Decepticons in their cause for glory! Do you want to disappoint Megatron when he comes to see how you’ve grown?”

 

“No!” Miracle cried out, spark dropping. Disappointing Megatron would be a capital sin. She had never seen him before, but she had seen all kinds of pictures, and Quickwit had played her some of his speeches. He seemed so noble. Optimus Prime, on the other hand -- Quickwit had showed her things about him, too, and -- and he was a monster. Miracle eagerly awaited the day that Megatron would face him for the final time and come out victorious. “No, absolutely not! It’s just -- I thought I was doing good.”

 

“You’re doing fine,” Quickwit softened for a moment, and then firmed again. “But I want better than fine. You’re one of the lucky few -- a Phase Sixer! Do you know how many could have taken on that burden?”

 

“Only a few of us,” Miracle parroted back, nodding. “I know, Doctor Quickwit.”

 

“Good. Now, run it again. I want you to absolutely obliterate the dummy.” He went back over to his bench, and Chermiin folded out the cannons in her shoulder again, staring down the dummy. She imagined it was Optimus Prime, and closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. Just before she fired, Quickwit cried out. “Ah! Ah, keep your eyes open! You know better!”

 

Miracle opened her eyes again and did her best to imagine red and blue plating. Then, she fired, missiles flying forwards to seek their target. They hit home, blasting the dummy to shreds, and Quickwit clapped as a new one came up from a floor panel to take its place. “Excellent, good job! I think that’s enough missiles training for today. Take a break for lunch and then be back here for melee.”

 

Miracle nodded, sighing. Ever since she’d broken out of the facility when she was really young, Quickwit had kept such a close eye on her. He insisted it was because he was concerned about her safety, but if she was as powerful as he claimed, then what could hurt her? And when would Megatron come to see her? Quickwit said it would happen when he deemed her ready to show, but she was doing so well, shouldn’t it have been soon? She just wasn’t sure. She hoped she’d get to meet him soon, he seemed so heroic. Miracle wasn’t sure about this whole organics business -- after all, the ones she’d met had seemed so nice -- but maybe Quickwit was right. He usually was.

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


Gadget woke up laying on a berth, with her legs spread wide and her ankles resting in slings. She felt foggy, hazy, and she slipped in and out. She felt so odd. Something felt so wrong. Minutes later, a hand gently rested on her shoulder. Murmuring accompanied it. She threw an arm out, trying to swat who it was away. She couldn't take anymore. 

 

“Gadget,” the voice called, echoey and soft around the edges. She felt so funny, she didn't like it. She couldn't see, or she couldn't process what she was seeing. Slowly, it faded into focus. Two beacons of blue, against a background of muted burgundy and dark gray. Haven’s face faded into view and Gadget let out a massive vent of relief.

 

Haven waved a hand in front of her screen. “Gadget, are you with me?”

 

She nodded. As she became more alert, she noticed that the funny thing she was feeling was the absence of pain. Her chronometer read hours’ difference, even though it had only felt like minutes. Haven sighed in relief, dunking his hands into a bowl of soapy solvent. With alarm, Gadget saw energon seep out of his joints. Was that hers? She couldn’t remember anything. The last thing she remembered, she was in the mess hall. A gap spanned her memory, hazy and fuzzy, overshadowed by a pressing sense of terror. She stopped trying to remember, and started to shift. Haven rushed over, hands still wet, and gently held her still. It was the middle of the night. She should be in her cell. 

 

“Woah, woah,” Haven said, waiting until she was still to pull away. “You’re not going anywhere. You'll need to be here for a month at least to recover. I can't even replace your primary or secondary modesty plating yet. The welds need time to breathe as they set or they’ll fester.”

 

Gadget finally managed to speak. With relief, she noticed that her screen was clean. “I… HAVE TO STAY HERE?”

 

“Yeah. No moving for a couple of days. I promise I’ll keep a curtain drawn so nobody can see you, but… your valve was nearly destroyed. I almost had to remove it. It had been lacerated to ribbons and…” he checked his notes for his exact wording. “Had detached from its anchoring on the posterior side. I took a rape kit, I'm processing it now. It's your second one on file, Gadget.” His hand took her claw. “I'm sorry.”

 

Gadget lay, stunned. “I… DON’T EVEN REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED. ONLY BAD FEELINGS.”

 

“Count yourself lucky,” Haven said quickly, and grimly. “It took…” he calculated briefly. “Six hours of surgery to get you stabilized.”

 

Gadget’s head hit the back of the table, as Haven drew the privacy curtain. “SO. I GET TO STAY HERE? I DON’T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING BUT LAY IN BED?”

 

“Not a damn thing,” Haven said, now patting her claw, a little happier for her. “I’m sorry it had to happen like this. But at least you aren’t beholden to anyone but the medbay for a little while. In fact, if I catch you trying to do things before you’re good and ready, you’ll catch hell,” he jested, wagging an index finger on his top left hand. The other three migrated to his waist and hips. “I’m telling you. I’ll have to fluff your pillow and everything.”

 

Gadget laughed a little, and then winced. Something tugged, but it didn’t hurt yet, muted. Haven nodded, grimacing again. “That’d be the drugs. You’re hopped up on a real cocktail right now. Nothing drowsy, you were already unconscious when Chromepoint brought you in. He didn’t even bother to hide the energon spatters on his legs when he said he ‘found you’ like this. ‘Found you’ my left skid plate. It was Chromepoint who did this to you, wasn’t it?”

 

Gadget nodded. “AND THE WARDEN.” 

 

“I imagine that’d be the other sample, then,” Haven muttered to himself. He looked exhausted. “It’s late. Do you think you can sleep on your own, or do you want something in your IV?”

 

“GIVE ME SOMETHING.” Gadget said, without a second thought. As an afterthought, she added, “PLEASE.”

 

“Don’t blame ya,” Haven muttered under his breath, and went over to her IV bag, dripping drugs into her system. “I’ll have to take these out while you sleep, but I can give you a dose for you to go under.”

 

Gadget nodded, and watched him add it, grateful that wooziness was speedy. If she stayed awake too long, she might remember. And remember was the last thing she wanted to do.

 

She woke up heaving vents, terror coursing through her fuel lines. She had had a horrible, fractured dream. She couldn’t tell what was what, but she had snippets -- her valve ripping, laughter, a gun muzzle right in her screen. The second thing she registered was pain, pain so intense she was horrified that someone might be assaulting her right there -- but nobody was. She was alone, and even after she calmed down and lay still her valve hurt. It hurt so, so bad. And it was a lasting pain, too. Normally if pain stuck around long enough, Gadget could get used to it, but nothing could get used to this. She couldn’t even describe it. Minutes passed like hours, seconds like centuries. She lay in agony for an actual two hours before even processing that Haven had left her a button to call him in the night. It took her another ten minutes to work up the energy and focus required to extend a shaking claw to the button and push down.

 

Haven showed up what felt like hours later, moving the curtain aside to step in, and lighting the lamp directly above her berth. “Hey, hey,” he murmured, hand stroking the top of her visor, brushing his knuckles across it like a blacksmith taking a protoform’s temperature. “Are you alright? What do you need?”

 

Gadget trembled. “HURTS,” she managed. “HURTS. A LOT.”

 

Haven frowned, and turned to the IV bag, setting up the flow again. It was without sleep drugs at first, as he took a penlight out of his subspace to make sure she hadn’t torn anything. After a quick inspection (done only after the painkillers set in) he straightened, tucking the penlight away. “You didn’t tear anything,” he soothed, coming over to pat her arm. “I’ll put you back to sleep now, alright? You slept for about three hours. Press the button if it starts hurting again.”

 

Gadget nodded, and drifted off again back into a drug-laced sleep as Haven bid her sweet dreams and left. She slept another three hours before waking up again in pain. This time, it was early morning, and when she pressed the button, it wasn’t Haven that pulled the curtain aside -- it was  _ Palaver. _ Gadget instinctively tried to close her legs. Her valve punished her for the action, and she whimpered, still in monotone. Palaver’s visor was lit sympathetically, as the minibot toddled over to the vitals monitor and checked it. “Hey there,” he greeted, a bit sadly. “Been a while, huh?”

 

Gadget looked at the ceiling. “BEEN A WHILE.”

 

“I mean, I knew you were here, but…” he sighed. “How’d we keep missing each other? A bit unfortunipitous.”

 

Gadget’s brain stopped for a moment, the pain clouding her processor held at bay to process the word. Palaver seemed to gloss over it, waddling over from the monitor to lay his hands on her forearm. “Anyways, tell me what’s shakin’, bacon. Whatcha need?”

 

He had certainly changed during medical school, it seemed. But it was a good change. He seemed more authentic. Not that he was fake before. But it seemed like he’d discovered something he liked and wanted to emulate. It was a good look on him. He’d re-styled his paintjob too, soft mottled pink with hints of yellow here and there. If Gadget didn’t know any better, she’d think he’d done it after some kind of fruit, but Cybertron didn’t have fruits like that. “UH. PAIN. IT HURTS. A LOT.”

 

“Gotcha,” Palaver said, bustling over to the IV and checking the chart for what he was supposed to put in. “Yeah, Haven’s not on shift this morning. He always has early morning shifts off. Late night and afternoon, that’s his time to shine.”

 

Gadget watched, shaking with the pain, as Palaver applied the medicine to her IV. Gradually, she started to feel better, as the other minibot went through a round of questions with her. She jolted away when he crossed in front of her berth, trying to scoot backwards by instinct. He paused, rounded audial fins drooping a little as he held his hands up and visible. “Just crossing to the other side. I am gonna have to check you out, though, unless you don’t want me to. But someone has to. We gotta check every few hours or else one day you could wake up and have an infection from here to ya-ya and nobody wants that.”

 

Gadget could have almost laughed, but nerves outweighed it. She stayed still, and Palaver did too. Then, he moved, tidying up a few things on the table next to her. After that, he crossed back around to the front. “May I?”

 

The empurata was frozen rigid, spark pounding in its casing. The monitor took off to match, beeps becoming more frequent, and Palaver’s attention snapped to the monitor as he walked over to it, inspecting. He glanced over at Gadget. “Okay, never mind. You realize you just hit two hundred bpm? That’s like, insanely high even for a speedster. I’m not gonna go down there, okay? I’ll grab Haven. Is that alright?”

 

Gadget nodded, finials flat back. Palaver adjusted the medicine to give her a drip of sedative, just enough to take the edge off. Not enough to put her to sleep. She lay her head back, listening to the monitor slowly calm its beeps, as Palaver left, closing the curtain all the way behind himself. A few minutes passed, and footsteps shuffled close, followed by the tip-tap-tap of Palaver’s following footsteps. A gray hand fumbled around the edge of the curtain, pushing it aside, and Haven yawned his way in, scrubbing tiredly at his eyes.

 

“Hey, honey,” he said to Gadget, and his voice had a sleepy softness to it, as if he’d been woken up from a dream. “How are we feeling this morning?”

 

“OKAY.” Gadget answered. Haven went to check her vitals, nodding at everything. 

 

“Good,” he mumbled, “Palaver’s gonna have to stay because technically he’s the one checking you out, but I’m here actually doing the checkup, alright? Is that okay?”

 

Gadget nodded, and Palaver flitted to Haven’s side, wringing his hands. “I wouldn’t have called you, but her sparkbeat maxed out at two hundred beats per minute when I said I had to do the checkup.”

 

“You made the right call kiddo,” Haven mumbled, reaching out with his lower right arm to pat Palaver’s shoulder. “Just shadow me this time, alright? Like training all over again.”

 

The minibot nodded, and Haven gathered his tools, yawning again when he reached the front of the berth. He took a moment to recover. “Can I check it out, Gadget?”

 

Her sparkbeat jumped up a couple of digits, but she nodded, trying to remind herself it wouldn’t hurt. Haven patted her foot soothingly and went in, bending down to investigate, inspecting welds with a small insertable camera with a light. It showed up on a datapad in his left lower hand, and he kept glancing at it. “Okay… good so far… you’re doing great, sweetspark. Does it hurt?”

 

She shook her helm, as Palaver looked at the datapad with Haven. His visor glowed blue softly, giving him the impression of a thoughtful frown even though his perforated white faceplate covered his mouth. “That’s just like two other cases I got last week,” he murmured to Haven, under his breath. “Like,  _ exactly _ like them. And a few a couple of months ago, too.”

 

“Did you report them?” Haven muttered back, out of the side of his mouth. Palaver nodded, looking up at him.

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

“Good,” Haven mumbled, pulling the camera out. Palaver beckoned him over a few feet away, voice low. Gadget turned up her audials.

 

“I mean, one,” he sighed, holding up a hand. “Not going to go into super specifics, privacy and all that, but his mouth-” he swiped a hand just in front of his mouthplate. “-shredded. His valve, too,  _ just _ like that.” He pointed down at the datapad in Haven’s hand. “What’s going on? Why hasn’t this had a stop put to it? What’s high command doing?”

 

“Looking the other way,” Haven grumbled. “They always will until someone gives them the smoking gun.” He came back over to Gadget, and finished the checkup quickly. After bidding the empurata a soft goodbye, he left, and Palaver came over to stand by her bedside, seemingly at a loss for words. He got through a couple of false starts. “Whatever you did,” he started, hesitantly, “You don’t deserve this. I’m sorry it happened.” 

 

Gadget studied him, visor turned to face him. “IT HAPPENED.”

 

“Yeah.” Palaver looked down, nodding. “Sure did. Listen, I know we were like, kinda buddies in Tebba, right? You’re still my friend. Just want you to know.”

 

Gadget nodded, spark awash with something she couldn’t pin down. “THANKS.”

 

Palaver patted her arm. “If you need anything, gimme a ring. Well… better swish, jellyfish. I’ll be around, in the office or in here. Curtain’s still gonna be drawn. I have some appointments.”

 

Gadget lay with her legs propped up and her valve bared for three more days. On the fourth day, Haven gently helped her take her legs down, cautioning her to take it slow. “We can’t cover you up just yet, either. You’re still at risk for infection. It’s still inflamed, and if we let that heat get trapped in there it could be ugly news. But you can move a little, roll over or shift if you’re uncomfortable. Yeah, like that. You absolutely cannot get up yet, I can’t stress that enough. Your valve still needs to finish re-attaching to its torn anchor point or air could get trapped behind your valve walls, which can be disastrous. No sudden movements. If you need anything besides gently turning in bed, you press that button. I know it stinks being so completely bedridden, but otherwise you could hurt yourself.”

 

The empurata nodded, grateful to have her legs on the bed as Haven covered her with a blanket. She stared up at the ceiling, spark heavy, valve throbbing even as the ache was held at bay. 

 

Gadget left the clinic four weeks later, still limping and sore with a bottle of carefully dispensed capsules she could take if the pain got bad. They were prescribed in such a way that she could just take them until they ran out. She was guided back to her cell by another guard, a quiet femme who was taller than she was wide. Gadget had seen her around before -- she worked on the empurata’s block. They'd never interacted before now, or even seen each other that often, partly because the empurata was absent so often. Her name was Katarine. Haven had probably called her specifically. She’d guided Gadget out of the clinic with a gentle hand on her back, kindly ignoring the visored bot’s flinch. They both faced ahead and kept walking. Part of the reason Katarine was so tall, despite her already impressive stature, was her heels. They were different from Gadget, who had a basic type, with a thick raised heel and a flat front, angled and arched in between. Katarine had a thick, slightly rounded platform on the front, which dramatically swept to a thin, delicate spire that clicked on the ground like fine art. 

 

They passed the warden’s office, and Gadget heard screaming and crying. She stopped, staring down the hall, and Katarine stopped as well, glancing to her and the office. The hand pushed a little, and they started up again. “Put it out of your mind,” Katarine suggested, grimly. Her voice was low, but it had a soft quality, like high-threadcount mesh. “There’s nothing we can do.”

 

Gadget’s finials flicked in acknowledgement, and as they made her way back to her cell, the empurata was just glad it wasn't her. As Katarine ushered her in and closed the door, she reached out a hand, catching Gadget’s claw.

 

“I’m sure you know this,” she murmured, stroking a thumb down the flat side, as she stared at it. “But it gets easier.” At first, Gadget wasn't sure if she was talking about prison or empurata, but then, Katarine took her hand away, closing the door. As she left, she bid a traditional Carthex goodbye, heels still clicking. It had to be empurata. It had to be.

 

Flashbang whistled from her bed, “ooooooo"-ing. “Someone likes you.”

 

“SHUT UP.” Gadget limped to her bed, gingerly sinking down and trying not to cry out. Flashbang perked up a little, smile fading.

 

“Hey, what happened to you? Are you alright?”

 

“FINE.”

 

“You’ve never come back limping from solitary before.”

 

“I WASN’T IN SOLITARY.”

 

“Where were you?”

 

“CLINIC.”

 

“You were in the  _ clinic _ for  _ four and a half weeks?” _ Flashbang sat up, bouncing on the bed a little as she situated. “Guiding Hand, what happened?”

 

Gadget sighed, crumpling in on herself. Might as well. Chromepoint would probably find her here anyways and word would get out regardless. “CHROMEPOINT. AND THE WARDEN.”

 

Flashbang’s eyes went wide, and her hands drifted to her mouth. “No,” she whispered. “I’ve heard all sorts of stories about  _ him.” _

 

Gadget gingerly lay back. “THEY’RE PROBABLY TRUE.”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

The empurata wanted the questions to stop. She just wanted to go to sleep. She hoped she could sleep without the drugs. She didn't know how she'd ever sleep again. “I ALMOST DIED.”

 

“God,” Flashpoint said. “Let me know if there's anything I can do, okay?”

 

“YEAH. FINE.”

 

Gadget’s valve took months to fully, finally heal, with regular checkups to the clinic. She had started paying more attention to Katarine when she made her rounds, and they shared passing glances. So far, the speedster had stayed out of solitary -- had stayed out of everything. Fights, conversations, the warden’s office… she had drifted into the background like a shadow. It was really the longest consecutive time she'd ever been out of solitary.

 

So, months later, when it was  _ that day _ , Gadget tensed when a guard approached her at breakfast. “Warden wants you in his office.”

 

She finished off her cube. “NO.”

 

“It, uh,” the guard scratched his neck, a little confused by the confidence in Gadget’s refusal. “It kind of wasn’t up for debate? He was pretty certain about it. So… you’re gonna have to come with me.”

 

Gadget started to answer, to tell him to fuck off, and then she noticed the air around her. It was quiet, her end of the mess hall silent in a ring around her, all eyes watching like search beacons. By now, word had spread around the whole prison about what had happened a few months ago. Gadget looked around, finials flattening. Anything to be away from these multitudes of eyes. “... FINE.”

 

The guard sighed in relief. “Okay, great. C’mon then, this way.”

 

He reached out to take her arm, and she snatched it away, following him as her heels clicked quickly and angrily on the floor behind him. Left out of the mess hall, again. Straight for three minutes this time -- their pace was quick, the guard hurrying to keep ahead of her. A left. A right. Straight down the hall for twenty seconds.

 

Chromepoint was to the left of the door again, this time. Gadget’s tanks dropped. Another guard was on the other side, and they just barely inclined their helm. The third guard broke off and went back down the hall.

 

Chromepoint licked his chops, and knocked on the door with his knuckles. As Gadget passed him, he leaned close to murmur, “Hey there, sweet piece,” in her audial, and spanked her just before she crossed the threshold. She jumped so hard she almost tripped, and just before the door closed, she heard the second guard admonishing him to “be something approaching appropriate, for once in your life".

 

Gadget eyed Kaon, keeping herself calm as she sat in her chair. The Pet was with him this time. It hadn’t been last time. It was wearing a clear plastic cone, and was laying under his chair grumpily. Gadget sat and listened to them talk business, unsure of why they wanted her here. She soon found out. Kaon crossed his legs, sighing as he relaxed into his chair. “So, did you two have a good talk after I left? Good communication is so important.”

 

Thinstreak preened a little, sitting up in his chair as he cleared his throat. His wry little smile made Gadget want to rip his teeth out one by one and make him eat them. “Of a sort. I don't have office footage, but… there is hallway footage strung together. I thought you might be interested, so I clipped it all together.”

 

“Oh, please,” Kaon said, sitting up suddenly. “I’ve been  _ so _ bored lately. It’s just been, cannon fodder as of late.” He sighed. “Run of the mill stuff.”

 

Thinstreak’s smile wavered a little, in what Gadget thought might've been disgust, and he turned his monitor around, pressing the play button. He muttered something about having just sent it to Kaon as well. It was a shot of the hallway from the other end, trained on the door. The audio was tinny and low-quality, but Gadget heard laughter, heard the door open. Chromepoint left, dragging something that screeched behind him, and before the door closed Gadget saw that the desk and the rug in front of it was a mess of bloody fluid. 

 

She stopped herself from glancing to check for stains on the carpet in front of her, keeping her body very still, and her visor trained ahead. She could still see the video. As Chromepoint kept walking, the camera angle switched to one mounted high on the right side of the warden’s door. With horror, Gadget noticed that the screeching thing that Chromepoint was dragging was  _ her. _ She was unconscious, with transfluid spattered on her visor and a slick line steadily puddling from her valve to streak on the floor. Chromepoint stopped to adjust his grip, and the mess had actually started to puddle, leaving an oil slick of bodily fluids. Energon, lubricant, transfluid. 

 

Gadget noticed that her valve was visibly shredded even with the medium-quality footage, with shredded ribbons and pieces just barely clinging on, dragging on the floor between her legs, which were spread in a V. Chromepoint turned the corner, and in the curve the bloody trail left, glowing a ghastly pink, a string of her valve mesh finally gave up the ghost, snapping whatever meager thread held it and lying curved in the track. Gadget watched the video follow her and Chromepoint all the way to the clinic. Just before the doors opened, he hefted her conjunx-style, an arm under her shoulders and an arm under her knees. Her head lolled back, the arm not laying against his chest swinging limply.

 

Kaon whistled appreciatively, leaning back. “I  _ like _ this. Are you sure one of my comrades didn't pay a visit?”

 

Thinstreak laughed a little, but Gadget noticed with vicious delight that it was uncomfortable now. He squirmed, opening his mouth. “I’m sure it wasn't that bad.”

 

“It certainly isn't the  _ goriest _ thing I’ve ever seen,” Kaon acknowledged, mouth shrugging. “But it is  _ magnificent _ . How did you, uh, how did you do all that, with the valve?”

 

“Oh.” Thinstreak coughed, trying to keep that smug smile on his face. “I, uh, it wasn't me. Chromepoint got his spike modded, it has barbs.”

 

Kaon laughed out loud, sitting back in his chair as his fingers came to rest gently over his mouth. He looked positively enraptured, as if this was the most captivating experience he’d had all year.  _ “No.” _

 

“Yes, I don't like to get my hands dirty,” Thinstreak said, looking down at his desk. He spun his chair to the side a little, putting his feet up on the desk. “I had the other end of her occupied.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes,” Thinstreak said, looking torn between being proud of Kaon’s compliments or disgusted by them. “I had her uh, proboscis. I put the gun to her head and said get to work or she wouldn't have a head, and Chromepoint would be having sex with a corpse.”

 

“That’s brutal,” Kaon said, smiling wide behind his fingers. “I love it. That's art.”

 

Thinstreak ducked his helm. “Thank you. Shall Radio escort you to the dropoff?”

 

“Sure,” Kaon said, cheerfully. The Pet got up to follow him, still looking grumpy. “Oh, my. I'll have to show that to my team, they'll love it. Oh, I’ll have to go tell Tarn he was right, I might like this place. Damn, I hate it when I have to do that.”

 

Kaon left, and Gadget stayed rooted to her chair, feeling far away. Her memory was still fuzzy, but the veneer felt thin, like the sun on a cold day. Dark things stirred just below the surface. Chromepoint came in, and Gadget could feel his field, smothering, hungry.

 

Thinstreak shut him down. “Not today. I have a general check up at the clinic and I don't want to hear it from Haven, and I don't want Palaver to know I'm involved.”

 

“What, so  _ I _ can’t have fun?” Chromepoint complained. “Just because you have a crush on Doctor Cutie? What is it with you and doctors? Do you have a medical kink or something?”

 

“You are  _ insufferable _ ,” Thinstreak hissed. “Can you wait for -- at least wait until tomorrow? Primus.”

 

Chromepoint pouted. “Fine.”

 

Gadget went about her day after that as normal, and lay awake that night. She couldn't go to sleep no matter how hard she tried. The threat of tomorrow loomed like a firing squad. Finally, early in the morning or very late at night, Flashbang stirred. “Your field’s keeping me up, man,” she mumbled, one eye opening. It lit up the gloom like a lamp. “Whatcha need?”

 

“I JUST WANT TO GO TO SLEEP,” Gadget said, curling up a little tighter. Flashbang nodded, sitting up as both eyes opened.

 

“Gotcha, gotcha,” she said. She pulled a baggie of pills out of her subspace. “These are sleeping pills if you want them. They’re like, over the counter, though. Dunno if they’ll work. I keep a small pharmacy on me at all times. Never know what you'll need when. Oh! I might have just the thing.”

 

She put the pills away and drew out a small box. In it, three needles, pre-loaded with gently glowing blue solution, rested. “Try these on for size. I’ve used these before, it’s good stuff. Now I do speeders, but before I got used to this place, this is the tipple that took my fancy. It just makes you feel good, you know? Like everything’s gonna be okay.”

 

Gadget nodded, taking the box. “WHAT’S THE PRICE?”

 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, to be honest,” Flashbang waved aside, chuckling. “I hate seeing you have all these nightmares. These are loading doses, to get it in your system. Don't worry about dosage now, they're already calculated. This is for small frames. When you start pulling your own doses, just ask me if you have questions. Three’s all I have left. You'll have to ask a guard for more.”

 

Gadget picked up a syringe and spun it in her pincers. “WHAT’S IT CALLED?”

 

“Jubilance is its street name,” Flashbang shrugged. “They make it out of antidepressants. If you have access to a lab and a psychiatrist? You're golden, baby. It's cheap, it works, it sells. Any antidepressant. Of course, different happy pills make different types of jubilance, but they all do basically the same thing -- they way they cook the stuff down, the only difference might be a color change and what type of happy it makes you. This one is called Blue Moon. Kind of calms you down, makes you feel like you're swinging in a hammock on the beach. Like everything’s good. Normally for someome who just wants to sleep, you'd need Black Ore, but...” Flashbang chewed on her lower lip. “I don't sell that.”

 

Gadget nearly trembled. She craved that so badly she didn't know how to express it. She didn't know the last time she felt good. But the syringes weren’t made for claws. She’d have to use both sets of pincers. Or… “HELP ME INJECT IT.”

 

“Thought so,” Flashbang said smugly, getting off her bed and taking the needle. “Alright, so you're going to want to find a line. This one's good. Okay, isolate it, and you want the bevel of the needle facing up. Go in at forty five degrees-"

 

Gadget watched the needle slip into the fuel line of her arm like silt into a river. It barely pinched. Flashbang kept narrating. “-like that, and-"

 

“What’s going on?” Katarine questioned, heels clicking as she came into the dim light cast in the cell. Her biolights pulsed softly, light pink and yellow. “Flashbang, are you dealing again?”

 

Flasgbang looked at Katarine innocently, and everyone looked at the needle in Gadget’s arm. Both prisoners glanced back to Katarine. “No,” Flashbang said, just as innocently. Her finger hovered over the plunger. Katarine sighed, squinting at the softly glowing blue substance in the syringe. 

 

“And is that Blue Moon jubilance?”

 

“No,” Flashbang said again, eyes wide. She shook her head just a tad for effect. Katarine looked at Gadget.

 

“Blue Moon is highly addictive,” she warned, silky voice still low. “Most often, all it takes is one dose.”

 

Gadget looked at Katarine, and then back at Flashbang. Then to the needle in her arm, and she offlined her visor as the image of her limp body being drug down the hallway came to mind. A shudder ran through her frame and she onlined her visor again and nodded. “PUSH IT.”

 

Katarine watched the drug go in, Flashbang carefully pressing the plunger down at a steady pace. She voiced neither disapproval nor approval. Gadget glanced at her, questioning. She shrugged, slowly. “I told you the risks. Flashbang told you its attractive qualities. You weighed the scales and made this decision -- it’s not my place to weigh in on how you comfort yourself.”

 

“There ya go,” Flashbang said, taking her finger off the plunger. When she did, a spring inside the needle sprung back, removing it instantly. “Flex your arm, get the fuel pumping. Flex it. Flex it, yeah  _ mama!” _

 

“Shh,” Katarine admonished, “There are people trying to sleep. Give me the empty syringe, I’ll dispose of it.”

 

Flashbang scurried over and dropped it in Katarine’s extended palm. It closed around the syringe like a trap, and Flashbang started dancing, grinning. “Party in B block, motherfucker! We’re getting rowdy!”

 

_ “Shh,” _ Katarine hissed, a little louder. “Be respectful.  _ We _ are not doing anything.  _ You _ are going back to sleep, and  _ Gadget _ is trying to self-medicate.  _ I _ am going to dispose of your syringe and keep making my rounds. You aren’t even  _ on _ B block.” The femme looked to Gadget, lips pursing for a moment. “For the record,” she murmured, “I hope that one day, things turn out alright for you.”

 

She stepped back two steps, and turned on her thin heel, clicking away. Gadget let her helm fall back as something started to wash over her, and a chill swept her frame, rattling her plating once. A pleasant tingle, intense and warm, cradled the back of her helm starting in her neck, and her finials drooped along with her antenna. She couldn’t imagine what had kept her up so late. Somehow, the threat of tomorrow had shrunk from a mountain into a molehill in a matter of seconds, and she sighed through her vents, so relieved she could cry. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt anything but miserable.

 

“Blue Moon isn’t hallucinogenic,” Flashbang added, laying back down in bed. Gadget put the box with the other two on her tiny nightstand, laying back as well. She felt warm all over, a good warm, relaxed. “Some kinds of jubilance are -- I think Purple Nights is? They’re named after the color spectrum most of the time, since they come in all colors. Green Bay is nice, it makes you giggly. Everything’s funny. Purple Nights is so, so wonderful,” Flashbang sighed. “Mm, makes you feel nice. Makes you feel lovey-dovey, you know, good for sex.”

 

Gadget cringed, her high disrupted a bit. Flashbang kept chattering, her eyes closed. She must not have noticed. “Orange Sunrise is good, too. They’re all good. It makes you feel like you can do anything, you’ve got enough energy for everything. Uh… hm… what other kinds? There’s White Flower, and Black Ore, those are nice. Black Ore makes you sleepy. White Flower makes you feel like you’re on a cloud, that’s hallucinogenic too. If you can’t get your hands on one type, another will satisfy the cravings, which is part of why it’s popular. It’s real accessible.”

 

Gadget listened to her talk, calmed by the chatter. Or it could’ve been the drug. She wasn’t sure. “WHEN SHOULD I TAKE ANOTHER ONE?”

 

“When the first one runs out,” Flashbang answered. “You’ll kinda feel it. You should last until you get back in the cell tomorrow, once you get it in your system you can kind of coast until you get your hands on another dose. Unless you’re off of it for like, a week or something. I wouldn’t go off of it cold turkey. It can get ugly, ya know.”

 

“UGLY?” the empurata questioned, mildly curious. She lifted a claw to trace designs on the wall next to her, not enough to leave a mark.

 

“Yeah,” Flashbang shrugged. “Paint flaking, the shakes, upset tanks, worsening depression, you know the drill. Worst case, seizures, paralysis, death. But that’s only if you’re like, career junkie, massive dosing, been using for a long time.”

 

“OH.” Gadget felt herself starting to get sleepy, because she hadn’t slept in a long, long time. “I’M GOING TO GO TO SLEEP NOW. GOODNIGHT, FLASHBANG.”

 

“Night,” Flashbang yawned, flipping over to face the wall. “Glad to hook you up.”

 

“THANK YOU.” Gadget drifted away, the calmest she had felt in centuries. That night, she had no dreams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR for those who skipped (for any reason!)
> 
> \- Gadget refuses Kaon's request to join the Cons
> 
> \- Kaon (with implication) sets the warden and Chromepoint on her after he leaves, as a way to punish her for casting aside the DJD as an option
> 
> \- Gadget stays in the clinic for four and half weeks, where she bonds with Haven and sees Palaver, who is completing his final residency at the prison
> 
> \- Chermiin is continuing her combat training with Quickwit, who is attempting to mold her into Megatron's perfect Phase Sixer soldier
> 
> \- After Gadget gets out of the clinic, she begins to take drugs known as jubilance, a drug made out of antidepressants (specifically the Blue Moon variety)
> 
>  
> 
> \------------------
> 
> that's all for this chapter. it's gotten rather grim, but there will be light at the end of the tunnel -- I promise. what did you all think?


	23. Delphicular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gadget finds refuge in chemical sources, gets to know an enigmatic figure at the prison, and has to prepare to say goodbye to Flashbang, as the Camien is nearing the end of her sentence. Miracle tries hard to be what Quickwit wants her to be, but she has trouble. Flux and Megatron continue to disagree when he makes his reappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible trigger warnings:**
> 
> **mentions of drug use/on-screen drug use starting with the first line and ending with "Miracle swung her battleaxe through the air..."**
> 
> **implied guards having inappropriate relations with prisoners in the same section**
> 
> **mentions of drug use/on-screen drug use starting with the line "As the days progressed, Gadget found that she was right..." and ending with "she faded into sleep, feeling cold..." (implied improper relationships here as well although it's more peripheral and less direct)**
> 
> **mentions of drug use from the line "Sunbeam puffed out his cheeks..." until the end of the chapter.**
> 
> **TL;DR for those of you who skip!**

Tomorrow never came. Or at least, Chromepoint never came for her. Gadget went through the day as normal, with growing anxiety as the day passed. Finally, at the end of it, she was back in her cell, with Flashbang. The mech smiled at her, sitting on her bed. “So, how do you feel?”

 

“FINE,” Gadget said, and she meant it. Despite being scared of what might still happen, underneath that, she was a steady baseline of fine, still. But underneath that further, she’d better take another dose. She had started to itch for one. “HELP ME AGAIN?”

 

“Yeah, lemme show you how you can do it,” Flashbang said, and they situated themselves again, as Flashbang guided Gadget’s claws. In the end, it was Gadget who pressed down the plunger this time, sighing in relief. She could almost feel it enter her fuelstream, warming her as it went and giving her that tingle in the back of her helm. Calm washed over her like the ocean. “Feel better?”

 

“A LOT BETTER,” Gadget replied. The next day, she used up her last loading dose. By the fourth night, she had actively started itching for another dose, something just a bit stronger. Flashbang threw the box away. 

 

“Yeah, you’re gonna start pulling your own stuff now. I’ll show you how to do that. But first you’ve gotta score it.”

 

“SCORE. IT?”

 

“Yeah. The guards usually can get you what you need, and they can all get jubilance. Like I said, real accessible.” She looked at Gadget, and frowned. “Although, you’re not getting anything like that.” She scurried over, getting a rag out from her subspace and starting to buff Gadget’s plating, apologizing when the empuratee flinched. “You gotta shine yourself up, ya know.”

 

“WHY?”

 

Flashbang paused, glancing at her. “What, like you don’t know? Flatback for it, honey, that’s all they want.”

 

Gadget’s finials flattened completely, as her plating slimmed down. Suddenly, she was torn. Maybe if she stopped now, she could ride out the itching paint and the upset tanks and the depression. A part of her no longer wanted to -- a part of her was wanting to make the sacrifice. “MAYBE I’M GOING TO STOP.”

 

“I mean, you can,” Flashbang said, stopping her buffing attempts. “Up to you. It probably won’t be too bad, you’ve only had the loading dose.”

 

Gadget flipped over to face the wall. “YEAH. I’LL WAIT IT OUT.”

 

“Well,” Flashbang said, patting her shoulder, “Good luck, huh? Just let me know if you change your mind, I’m meeting up with Wingspan tomorrow morning to get some more speeders. I can have him call some more Blue Moon in.”

 

Gadget thought about it. If Flashbang was already going to do it anyways, might as well take advantage. But Flashbang wouldn’t extend that courtesy forever -- there was no reason to -- and soon Gadget would be marooned again, facing her own choice, the next time with higher stakes. The word was out of her intake before she could stop it.  “SURE.”

 

“Sure, as in you agree, or ‘sure’ as in ‘get me more drugs’?”

 

“GET ME MORE DRUGS.”

 

“Alright then,” Flashbang said, flipping back an arm panel to reveal a mirror. “Better make myself look extra pretty, huh?”

 

Gadget didn’t answer, forcing herself to ride her last remnants of calm and go to sleep. The next morning, she woke up to Flashbang greeting whoever Wingspan was, flirtatiously, and they left together, giggling to each other. After that, it was time to get up for breakfast. One of Gadget’s thighs wouldn’t stop itching. She could barely keep her breakfast down and almost fell asleep at the table. Her day felt like a blur, slogged through until with relief, she hit the bed, feeling like she wasn’t able to even move. Flashbang was already there, in her own bed, paint transfers around her pelvis. “Hey there, blue moon.”

 

Gadget grunted in response. She could muster up the energy to talk, she just needed a moment. Flashbang hummed sympathetically. “Feeling it already?”

 

Another grunt.

 

“Well, don’t worry. Wingspan called some in, he should be dropping it off by tomorrow. You’re not his type, to be honest -- a little too small and delicate -- so he’s not going to give you any trouble. You’re welcome,” Flashbang singsonged, grinning as she closed her eyes to sleep. Gadget tried to drift off as well, but her brain refused to let her sleep, even though she was so, so tired. Eventually she flipped on her back, and looked up at the ceiling. She stayed like that for the night, and finally managed to pass out an hour before wakeup time. Wingspan was there to greet her before breakfast, leaning on the bars. He had paint transfers in Flashbang’s colors. “Gadget of Carthex?”

 

Gadget sat up, swinging her legs over the bed and walking over. “THAT’S ME.”

 

Wingspan passed her two boxes. “Got somethin’ for ya.”

 

She took it, mumbling a thank you, and went back to sit on the bed, looking in the boxes. Another guard called for wakeup, as other prisoners stirred in their beds. Gadget put both boxes aside. She didn’t have time to draw a dose. Even though her body still itched, her tanks still rolled, and her brain still slept, just knowing she had a dose waiting for her at the end of the day calmed her. She ended the day sitting on her bed, Flashbang sitting across from her. “So,” she said, “ready to pull your own first real dose?”

 

“MORE THAN READY.”

 

Flashbang walked her through it, finding the best way that Gadget could do it. In the end, the vial had to sit rubber-cap up on the table, with Gadget sinking the thin needle down into the solution, holding the syringe steady with one claw and pulling the pump with the other. Flashbang coached her. “Good, good… stop, stop stop! Right there,” She said, watching the solution stop at a tick and a half. “Doesn’t look like much, but the other syringes were full because it was diluted. This stuff’s pure. Anytime you feel like you start needing more, only go up half a tick at a time. Trust me.”

 

Gadget nodded, businesslike as she injected herself until the plunger was all the way down, shakily venting. Immediate relief washed over her, turning her knees to jelly. The itch faded away, the nausea correcting itself, and her brain woke up a little. Her misery leached away like a droplet of ink in running water. This… this was better than she’d  _ ever _ felt. She looked in the box. She had dozens of fresh syringes, and two large vials, enough for a long time’s worth of doses if the increase pace was slow.

 

She shivered again as another wave of tingling in the back of her head and pure peace crested over her. She wouldn’t worry about how to get more for now. She could cross that bridge when she got to it.

  
  


\----------------------

  
  


Miracle swung the battleaxe through the air, the  _ whoosh _ as it swept by carefully controlled. 

 

“Position two,” her trainer said, an old weapons coach. Miracle flipped her axe hand over and pulled the axe head up as if unzipping someone, pausing with it hovering over her helm. Her muscle cabling hadn’t even started to get tired and she’d been doing this for two hours. Last week, Quickwit had taken her through a very painful demonstration of how she could get blown up with something that could tear apart a normal Cybertronian but would leave her most important spots completely intact.

 

“Position three,” her trainer said, and Miracle followed through for the last swipe of the move. Her arm clipped her helm, and the ringing gave way to pain, pain that was so sudden that Miracle couldn’t even yell. It felt like her head was about to explode -- she dropped the axe, panic blooming in her spark, and fell to her knees, clutching her helm as she immediately started to cry. Her cries echoed in the wide, high-ceilinged training room. She vaguely heard her trainer calling for Quickwit, and when the scientist rushed over, Miracle reached out to hug him, all of a sudden confused and terrified and not knowing where she was. She felt like she knew something that she couldn’t access -- like all of those questions that she’d been asking about herself really did have an answer, and Quickwit hadn’t been giving it to her. 

 

“What in god’s name is the matter?” Quickwit asked, doing his best to pat her arms. “What’s all this, hm?”

 

“My head hurts,” Miracle wailed, great heaving sobs wracking her body, “I’m  _ scared!” _

 

“Shh,” the scientist hushed, patting still. “You’re a Phase Sixer, hm? Remember the landmine the other day? It can’t hurt you.”

 

Miracle hiccuped, sniffling as she calmed a little. “M-my head,” she mumbled, dazedly. “My head…”

 

“Is  _ fine,” _ Quickwit interrupted, holding her by both sides of her face. He pinched a handful of cheek mesh in both his hands. “What have I got you by, then, hm? See?” he shook her helm back and forth a little. “You’re fine. There’s  _ nothing _ to be afraid of. You’re practically a god. A piddly little explosion can’t do squat to you, even if it is near your head.”

 

Miracle nodded, tears still trickling as she held his blue eyes. Quickwit surveyed her, and hummed thoughtfully. “Let’s take a break. Get you some snacks, hm?”

 

Miracle gasped, eyes widening as she started to smile. “Can I have some energon jellies?” she asked hopefully, voice still a little wet and thick. She sniffed, once, hard, and smiled a little more. “Please?”

 

“Yes, you can have some energon jellies. Here. Come.”

  
  


\------------------------------

  
  


As the days progressed, Gadget found that she was right. The increase pace  _ was _ slow. A tick and a half lasted her a while, a long while. When she started feeling like a tick and a half wasn’t good enough, she took it up to two ticks, and that carried her for another long while. She had stopped being called to the meetings. Chromepoint never bothered to stop by her block, or if he did, she was in solitary when he stopped by. She didn’t feel the need to fight, she drank her rations quickly in the corner of the room and sat quietly. Life was peaceful even if her surroundings weren’t.

 

And then, she was down to four doses left, in her last vial. She held it up to the light, dismayed, wishing it was full again. Flashbang hummed, from her bed. “Yeah, you’re cuttin’ it close, blue moon. Better get some more, quick. Good news is, you can pick almost anyone you like. Whoever catches your eye.”

 

Gadget set the vial down, quiet. Even through her steady high, the thought of anything approaching interface made her nauseous. But she craved,  _ needed _ more jubilance. Last month, Thinstreak had shoved her in solitary for a month just because she hadn’t been there a while (a while being two consecutive weeks), and by the end of it, her whole body hurt, shaking and attempting to purge fuel even though she physically couldn’t purge. Just the thought of experiencing that without a safety net made her tremble. “WHAT. ABOUT KATARINE?”

 

“Yeah, I know you like her,” Flashbang said, and Gadget could hear the wiggly eyebrows in her voice. “Katarine can get you some. She’s  _ nice, _ too, does whatever you want, makes you feel  _ real _ good.”

 

Gadget felt like throwing up again. It was as if she’d missed her doses. She reminded herself that it could be Chromepoint and stuffed it down. “I’LL ASK HER TONIGHT, THEN.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Flashbang said, and then laughed, making kissy noises. Gadget’s finials flattened, her plating slimming, and she tried not to think about what getting more jubilance meant. She was going to get more. That was what mattered. “Look at you go, blue moon. Remember to work those hips, honey.”

 

Gadget offlined her visor, trying to keep control of her venting. She was sure if she wasn’t high, she would’ve lost it and strangled her cellmate by now. She hurriedly injected her dose for the night, and let the calm wash over her, taking her doses down to three. She sat on her bed, and waited for Katarine’s shift.

 

Katarine walked by, right on schedule, and Gadget jumped up, reaching for her. “HEY. HEY.”

 

The tall femme stopped mid-step, looking over at her. She was lit by an overhead dim light, shining down upon her like a halo. She had a magnificent rack of antlers, framing above her head like spires. Some branches had crystals, or chimes hanging from them, tied with thin pieces of wire or jewelry chains. They curved around and up, and her audials mimicked large, oval ears, hanging down at rest. One flicked up a little. “Hm?”

 

“I NEED HELP,” Gadget begged, “PLEASE.”

 

Katarine approached, concerned immediately. “What’s wrong?”

 

Gadget rushed over to her box and got the vial, holding it up for Katarine’s inspection. Flashpoint was asleep, snoring half-covered by her blankets. “I HAVE THREE DOSES LEFT. I NEED MORE. IT’S BLUE MOON. CAN YOU GET ME SOME?”

 

Katarine grew more serious, nodding after a moment. She stepped away from the bars, unlocking the cell. “Come with me, please. Wingspan is also on shift -- he can cover.”

 

Sick to her tanks, Gadget followed, appraising the guard as she turned and began to lead Gadget away. As she walked, her audial flicked, like she was comming her fellow guard. She was beautiful, someone Gadget would find attractive, even. She was lean, graceful, with long legs accentuated by her delicate heels. Everything about her was restrained, ethereal, commanding quiet respect. But the situation curdled Gadget’s fuel. She never wanted to fuck another person as long as she lived. She’d had enough for three lifetimes. Still, she followed Katarine, driven on by the memory of the beginnings of withdrawal. 

 

They got to Katarine’s room, and she opened the door, beckoning Gadget inside. It was almost cozy, with hand-woven rugs and soft seating. Crystals were scattered around the room. Her bed was a mattress on the floor, with multitudes of pillows and soft blankets. A net of gems and crystals hung from the ceiling directly above it, hanging low. Gadget started to shuffle over to it, bracing herself, and Katarine stopped her, herding her over to the couch. “Mm-nm,” she chided, shaking her helm. It made her chimes jingle. “No, no, darling.”

 

She sat down on the couch, and pulled Gadget with her, pulling the minibot into her lap. The speedster let herself be manipulated, limp, and was confused to notice she ended up almost cradled, pressed to the larger empurata’s chest. She tucked her legs to her calves, waiting for something to happen. Katarine put her chin over Gadget’s helm, and held her, one arm supporting Gadget’s back and another keeping her gathered in her lap. The guard sighed, chin lifting off of the speedster’s helm so her hand could come up and gently brush, knuckles stroking the side of Gadget’s visor, down the jaw edge. Gadget was tense, so tense. Katarine’s field was devoid of lust, devoid of anything except concern and support. Minutes passed. Nothing happened. Katarine quietly hushed her, projecting security, and finally Gadget began to relax, confused. 

 

“YOU. DON’T WANT TO FUCK.”

 

“No,” Katarine said, “I don’t.”

 

“WHY DID YOU BRING ME HERE?”

 

“Because I sense you need this as much as I do,” she murmured, still stroking. “Kind touches are a rare currency in here. Would you like to talk, or is silence acceptable?”

 

“TALK,” Gadget said,  “PLEASE.” Katarine was an enigma. “HOW DO I KNOW YOU’RE NOT LYING?”

 

“Interface has never interested me, not with other people. Kissing is nice, but… not with just anyone. And when I underwent empurata, there went self-service. My conjunx, Primus rest her soul, met me soon after. We were bonded soon after that.” She paused, looking up a little. The chimes jingled softly. “I moved with her to Iacon, got an altmode change under the table. I got my head and hands back, too. She paid somebody off. I became a blacksmith.” The hand stroked, soft. “We raised more than a few protoforms together. I suppose…” she sighed. “I suppose I miss that more than I ought to.”

 

She was silent, and Gadget understood what she meant. It was the reason she was being cradled, comforted, taken care of. After a moment, Katarine continued. “When the war broke out, I-” She got quiet. Clearing her throat a little, she went on, “I joined the Autobots, and my wife did as well. She was killed in battle early on. I survived, and went into prison guarding, going from Garrus to Garrus. I got another altmode change. And I ended up here.”

 

Gadget looked up Katarine of Iacon. A file came up, and she opened it, reading it. “THE FIRST PART OF YOUR STORY ISN’T IN YOUR FILE. AND IT SAYS YOU WEREN’T CONJUNXED.”

 

The hand kept stroking. Nothing in her field changed. Gadget expected a blow, a strike, for this gentle treatment to end. She craved it almost more than she craved the drugs. She didn’t want this to end, ever. It reminded her of someone she’d forgotten a long time ago, someone she no longer dreamed about. Her spark had a momentary pang, and Katarine’s arms shifted, pulling her a little closer, a little warmer. “We all have a few skeletons in our closet, I suppose,” She murmured, and Gadget sensed that there was a story behind that. As Katarine gently moved to scratch lightly at the base of her helm, where her neck connected, she found she no longer cared. The tingling started up, almost as if she had just injected herself with jubilance. “I try to live in the here and now.”

 

Gadget let out a gust of a vent. “HOW LONG DO I HAVE?”

 

“Around thirty minutes, I suppose,” Katarine said, softly. “You may fall asleep if you start feeling like you’re tired. I’ll wake you up.”

 

Gadget didn’t think she would. But her body had other plans, and she drifted off, cradled. She couldn’t tie it back to a memory -- after all, she’d been cold constructed, not forged -- but Katarine started humming, and she thought she could remember that if she tried hard enough, like it was just out of reach. Feel the blacksmith shaping her. She drifted off, calmed by her high and Katarine’s field.

 

She woke up being gently shaken, with Katarine urging her that it was time to get up. Gadget blearily rose, finials flicking. It was the hardest she’d slept in ages. The guard rose, Gadget still in her arms, and then gently set the minibot down, helping her stand on her feet. “That’s it, get your feet under you. Let’s get you your medicine, then.”

 

Gadget followed along behind her, shaking her helm to clear sleep from her visor, and paused as Katarine reached a cabinet above a standalone sink. The door next to it was covered by a curtain, probably leading to washracks.  “I started stocking up the day that Flashbang pushed the plunger down,” the guard murmured, taking a box out and handing it down to Gadget. “Good things are few and far between here. I can’t fault you for seeking chemical help.”

 

Gadget stared down at the box, and Katarine continued, shutting the cabinet. “If you’re going to do it,” she said, “I’d rather you have to get it from me. I don’t have sexual interactions with inmates. It’s unethical, and I’m asexual to boot. Consider our time an escape of sorts.”

 

Gadget took the box, stunned. The sense of peace washing over her was largely due to her high, but her whole body tingled, the places she’d been pressed against Katarine cold, aching. Already she felt like she was missing something, like a withdrawal was occurring even though she’d just shot up. Katarine leaned down and bunted forehelms with her, a pair of soft, hollow chimes clacking near her audial. They weren’t metal -- some sort of organic material, treated to last. Gadget raised a claw to bump one of the chimes, captivated by it, and Katarine smiled. She had a beautiful smile. “Rhokien bamboo. On Rhokei, the myth is that it lasts a million centuries. It makes a lovely hollow note. Come now. Let’s get you back to bed.”

 

Gadget followed her again, trotting slightly to keep up, mourning that her time was up. Before they left the room, Katarine paused. “If anyone asks you what we did,” she murmured, “say we interfaced, if you tell them anything at all. Here, guards that don’t interface with the prisoners are out of place -- noticeable.”

 

Gadget nodded, holding her gaze. Anything to get more of this. She had started to think that this was the real drug, and the liquid in the vial was just a placebo. She didn’t ask why Katarine didn’t want to be noticed. It was none of her business. After another moment, Katarine nodded, the small Rhokien bamboo chimes clacking hollowly, before she rose. “Good. Now come along. Back to bed with you.” She rose, extending her hand, and Gadget stared at it a moment before gingerly reaching for it, closing a claw around it before glancing up to see if that was what she was supposed to do. Katarine smiled down at her, before leading her back to her cell, and pushing her gently in with a hand on her back. “Goodnight. Sleep well, darling.”

 

Wingspan passed by, clicking his tongue and winking at Katarine, before bumping hips with her. “Get on with your bad self,” he said under his breath to her, and she flicked an ear his way to acknowledge as he kept walking, in the direction that she and Gadget had just come. Gadget got into bed, pulling the covers over herself as Katarine stepped back and transformed. In her place, a deer stood, with an impressive rack of antlers and large, floppy ears. She stared at Gadget a moment longer before trotting away down the hall, hooves clopping gently against the floor. The speedster watched her go. She had seen a deer walk the halls before, but she was always half asleep and convinced she was hallucinating, or dreaming.

 

She faded into sleep, feeling cold.

  
  


\-------------------------------------------

  
  


“Quickwit, I don’t know about this,” Miracle said, as they looked at the strategic map. They were aboard a shuttle, flying over the planet, avoiding the population that Miracle had met firsthand. Instead, they’d gone to the other side of the planet. Colors saturated areas of high organic concentration. “Are you sure this is okay?”

 

“This is your first real test,” Quickwit admonished, crossing his arms. It made his lab coat flutter, and Miracle cast wide eyes to her most trusted authority figure. He looked disappointed. “I’ll be right in your comms and taking notes. Part of being a Decepticon is paving the way for our species to expand.”

 

“But these people were here first,” Miracle said, confusedly, pointing at the colorful map. “Isn’t that unfair to take it away from them? Where are they going to go?”

 

“You’re going to kill them,” Quickwit insisted. “It’s our duty as Decepticons to extinguish the universe of life that’s too primitive to appreciate what it has. That’s what Megatron has decreed. That’s what you’re for, A-113.” Miracle noticed he was using the nickname he’d explained for her a while back, which usually meant he was saying something very important. She frowned and tried to take it in -- tried to see his point of view. Something was just nagging at her, though. “They’re probably such backwards creatures they won’t even understand what’s happening to them.”

 

“But…” Miracle glanced at the map again. “But… Megatron said that we’re supposed to uphold truth, justice and fairness. This doesn’t seem very fair. This seems like… this seems like we’re being bullies.”

 

“They’d have to be people for that to apply, A-113,” Quickwit said, hands migrating to his hips. Then, he softened. “Miracle,” he said, using her name now, “would I lie to you?”

 

Miracle frowned, teeth gnawing at her lower lip. She was utterly torn. Quickwit hummed softly, coming over to her to reach up to her face. She leaned down to meet him partway, and his hands slid up to cover her cheeks. “Miracle,” he tutted, “I’m hurt. I  _ created _ you. Ever since I put your spark into that lump of sentio metallico, I knew you were destined to be special. Even before that -- when you were a collection of ingredients in a vial, I knew you were destined for great things. You do trust me, don’t you?”

 

“Of course,” she agreed immediately, orange eyes wide. “I just… I don’t feel right about this. It feels icky.”

 

“Hmm.” Quickwit patted her cheek. “Just trust me, you’re doing the right thing. The right choice isn’t always easy, you know.”

 

“I know!”

 

“Good. Now, we’re going to drop you over the point, and I want you to use all of your training. I want you act like Megatron himself is presiding.” Quickwit’s blue eyes held a flash of desperation, Miracle thought, but it was gone before she could be sure. “I want you to tear the place apart.”

 

“Okay,” Miracle said, blinking, and as Quickwit let go of her face, she stood back upright. “Okay, I will. I promise.”

 

Quickwit smiled, and nodded, clearly pleased. He glanced back to the pilot, who looked over their shoulder at him to nod. “Alright. We’re nearing the drop point. Do you have your axe?”

 

“Right here!” Miracle said peppily, grabbing it to thump the butt of the handle against the floor. It was nearly half as tall as she was. “Ready when you are!”

 

“Good! That’s the attitude I want to see. Remember, they’re not people. You’re not hurting anyone. It’s like -- it’s like cutting flowers. You like doing that, right?”

 

“Yeah, I love it!”

 

“Think of it like you’re just… cutting a lot of flowers.” Quickwit smiled at her, but it was a little tight. “Got it? Good. Dropoff point’s coming up in about ten seconds, so get ready.”

 

Miracle shuffled to stand over the drop doors, glancing up at Quickwit. “And I won’t get hurt when I fall?”

 

“Have you ever?” 

 

“No…”

 

“Exactly. Your body’s designed to withstand staggering amounts of pressure and impact. You’ll barely feel it. Five seconds. Four… three… two… one.”

 

Miracle opened her mouth to say something, but the floor dropped out from under her, causing her to plummet through the air like a rocket. Below her, a collection of buildings rested, spread out over a small pocket of forest clearing. The air ripped at her and she did her best not to panic, as her metal backskirt flew up to rattle by her helm. She’d never fallen from this high before, what if she got hurt? What if Quickwit was wrong?

 

Of course, he wasn’t wrong. She hit the ground with a massive boom, air flying out from under her and washing over the trees around her as she carried it into a kneel. Her metal skirt slammed down as well to puddle outwards on the ground. Houses toppled in on themselves and organics came scurrying out, running in all directions. Miracle folded out her shoulder cannons and started firing, blasting crater after crater in the ground. She started to walk after a group of organics all fleeing hand in hand, and then something made her stop when a smaller, younger one tripped, wide eyes rooted in terror to her face.

 

She stopped, head recoiling, and her mouth fell open. Her spark wavered. This was _ wrong. _ She didn’t know how -- didn’t know why -- but this was wrong. These were people. This wasn’t just cutting flowers -- this would be the same as marching into her lab facility and opening fire. Miracle took a step back, and looked up at the sky for guidance, looking for any sign of Quickwit’s shuttle in panic. She had to tell him. She had to let him know these were actually people and he was wrong!

 

He commed her.  **:What’s the holdup?:**

 

**:Quickwit, I think you’re wrong, I think these are really people! What do I do?:**

 

There was a long pause.  **:I see. In that case, we have to fix this immediately. Go to the pickup point and I’ll come and get you, and we’ll see what we can do, alright?:**

 

Miracle sniffled and nodded, even though Quickwit couldn’t see it.  **:Alright. I’ll be right there.:** And she ran off, taking care not to step on people or buildings. She blundered through the woods until she reached a clear field, standing in the clearing and anxiously looking up to the sky. Relief surged through her when she saw Quickwit’s shuttle, and it landed next to her. As soon as the door was opening, she was rushing inside, hands shaking. “I think I just -- I think I just killed people who didn’t do anything wrong!”

 

“Shh, shh,” Quickwit hushed, reaching up to hold her face. She quieted, sniffling, orange eyes wide and watery. “Hush. We’ll fix this. Just hold still and listen.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Miracle said, nodding along. A pinprick registered in her neck’s fuel lines, and she turned, slapping at her neck. A very large bug fell to the floor, and she stomped it with her foot. However, when she turned back to talk to Quickwit, she stumbled, eyes growing impossibly heavy, and her mouth opened to ask him a question. She forgot it, and fought sleep all of a sudden, confused. She hadn’t been tired before…

  
  


\---------------------------------

  
  


Quickwit watched impassively as the Phase-Sixer crumpled into a snoring heap at his feet, out cold. A-113 was always too gentle for its own good. Clearly something past psychological manipulation had to be done -- which was a shame. He was trying to avoid this. But he couldn’t gamble with something like A-113 -- not only was it the only healthy, surviving experiment he’d produced, he didn’t have the resources to keep track of  _ two _ Phase-Sixers at once. Especially not ones who had the minds of sparklings. A-113 had a gentle disposition, but the next subject might be far more petulant -- which could spell bad news if he couldn’t devote all of his attention to it. It was better to groom A-113 into the perfect soldier, however possible, rather than divide his attention between two demanding sources.

 

“Take us back,” he said to the pilot, “We’ve got work to do.”

 

“Right away, sir,” the pilot said, turning the ship around to speed back off to the facility. Quickwit with a couple of assistants managed to get A-113 on a table, and strapped it down, wheeling it out once the ship landed. Then, it was down an elevator, and down to Quickwit’s lab, where A-113 was wheeled to the center of the room and moved to a sturdier table, strapped down again. Quickwit commed the mnemosurgeon he kept around -- he’d anticipated possibly needing one, and it was nice to finally have a use for him rather than the mech just wandering around and casting critical glances. “Synethese, come to my lab. You’re needed urgently.”

 

The mnemosurgeon stalked in a minute or two later, broody, and looked over the sleeping Phase-Sixer. “I told you we’d have to do this sooner or later. You don’t have the people skills to manipulate.”

 

“Shut up, will you?” Quickwit said, “I want you to domesticate the asset.”

 

“Domesticate?” Synethese blinked. “Are you sure you can control it?”

 

“I might not have people skills, but anyone can control an animal if you brandish a big enough stick,” Quickwit said, snapping his fingers. “Chop chop, needlefingers. I don’t want it waking up halfway through. It’s crucial that we have the asset in perfect shape to present to Megatron. I’ll be a hero.”

 

“I think you mean we’ll  _ all _ be heroes,” Synethese grumbled, extending his needles. Quickwit made a quick “pff” sound and waved a hand limply as if to say “fiddle, faddle, it’s all the same.” 

 

“Can you do it quickly?’

 

“You wound me,” Synethese said, slipping his needles in at A-113’s temples. Immediately, he prepped the asset for domestication, methodically deconstructing higher brain function like he was taking apart a desk. “Of course I can do it quickly. Don’t let this blow up in our faces, you moron.”

  
  


\---------------------------------------------

  
  


Flux crossed her arms while she stared at the screen. Megatron had been back for some time now -- had nearly beaten Starscream into oblivion when he’d seen the general state of his army, and had publicly venerated her to his other troops for her ability to keep her units taken care of. Flux wasn’t a fan. Not only did it pit the Cons against each other, Megatron had insinuated that she was getting outside help. And add to it that he’d beaten his SIC within an inch of his life, and well. Flux wasn’t very happy with her commander at the moment. But she sucked it up -- change felt as if it was in the air. And aside from that, it was almost Keg Raising day!

 

Keg Raising was a Lower Crestover holiday, centered around siphoning. But in a bid to bring everyone together, Flux had modified it to be more accessible to her shipmates and announced a sort of semi-holiday, when the holiday used to be held in Lower Crestover. Everyone would bring some fuel and they would all sit around and talk in the common room, and then who knew? Maybe they’d put up a movie or something. It’d be fun. Flux was looking forwards to it -- she dearly missed Lower Crestover. Its culture, its values… there just wasn’t anything like it. Everyone shared with each other. Siphoning was commonplace, going so far as to set up outdoor, under-tent keg stands down the streets for people to grab a cup of siphoned donor fuel from a keg and chat with friends or strangers. Flux missed that atmosphere of never meeting a stranger. Perhaps this would bring a little of that back, share it with others.

 

But now, she had to focus on her assignment. She was to ferry supplies from one approaching planet to a world-sweeper in the next quadrant, and it had to be prompt on the dot. But… Flux sighed. Change was in the air -- she could feel it. What, she didn’t know. But… something was going to give. Over 3.5 million years of war, something had to give.

  
  


\--------------------------------

  
  


Sunbeam puffed out his cheeks, inhaling when Havoc passed him by. “This is a lot smaller than the Nemesis medibay, huh?” he said, looking around. Havoc grunted, nodding, and the younger doctor glanced at the rickety, grimy old medibay. He’d jumped from the Nemesis around 3.5 million years in with Havoc, who claimed she wanted to get away from “all of the dumbass fucking politics”. He was sure the Nemesis had replaced them by now -- how could it not have? Either way… he was finding he liked this sort of travelling medic life. He enjoyed working with Havoc a great deal -- when you got past that gruff exterior, she was actually really sweet. And he felt like he was doing good work on smaller ships, instead of hammering dents out of Conclave bigwigs. Not that that wasn’t good work, it’s just that he felt like he was needed here.

 

The doctor hummed to himself, putzing around the smaller medibay. They were on a scavenger ship, a garbage collector ship run by a mech named Doubleshot. 

 

Doubleshot and his crew were, for the most part, pretty good at staying out of trouble. They avoided hotspot areas, scavenging from long-dead planets and avoiding anything that would catch high command’s attention. They were, however, for the most part, addicted to drugs. And when Sunbeam said, “for the most part,” he meant the whole ship. There was one person on the entire ship who wasn’t a junkie barring the medical staff, and that was because he was completely sloshed all the time. The only time the mech  _ wasn’t _ totally plastered was when he was _ asleep. _ All of their coping mechanisms were  _ horrific! _ It was like the Ship of Misfit Mecha. Hell, one of them  _ was _ named Misfit! Sunbeam had never seen so many addicts in one place. It was like someone had distilled the Dead End down to its key aspects and put it on a garbage ship. In fact, Sunbeam was pretty sure that Doubleshot was  _ from _ the Dead End. Every crew member practically had their own synthesis methods for their drug of choice. It seemed like every week, Sunbeam got a refresher course on his overdose protocol training. Somedays he missed the comparatively luxurious accommodations of the Nemesis medibay. 

  
  
  


\--------------------------------

  
  
  


Time seemed to pass quickly when one was high. Centuries passed in a hairline comfortable existence. Sometimes, Gadget got into fights. Sometimes she didn’t. She got thrown into solitary sometimes, in the beginnings -- but withdrawals had gotten severe at this point, so severe that Haven had filed for her to be exempt from solitary. It was turned down, of course. So Gadget pre-loaded syringes, and kept them on her person. After that, she stopped having withdrawals during solitary. Katarine was her main supplier by now. Gadget very nearly looked forwards to the days that she was running low. It meant being cared for. Feeling loved.

 

One such day, Gadget approached the bars as Katarine passed. “HEY.”

 

She stopped. “Yes?”

 

“I’M ALMOST OUT.” Flashbang was gone, having left a few minutes ago with two guards not even on this block. “HELP?”

 

Katarine nodded, unlocking her cell. “This way.”

 

Gadget trotted after her, and nearly rushed in front of her when she opened the door to her habsuite. Katarine smiled, hushing her. “Slow down, little one. You’ll trip.”   
  


Gadget made her way to the couch and sat, looking expectantly up at Katarine. She didn’t sit this time. “Have you taken your medicine?”

 

“NOT YET.”

 

“Go ahead and take it,” she said, and knelt in front of Gadget. “I’ll help.”

 

Of course, Gadget didn’t need help. She was a sharpshooter now. But she craved the coddling as much as she craved Blue Moon. So she pulled a syringe out of her subspace, and allowed Katarine to guide her claws, murmuring to her. “It’s going to pinch, darling,” she said, eyes trained on the needle. One floppy ear flicked. “Count to three with me, yes? Breathe in on three. One, two…”

 

Gadget breathed in hard on three, but Katarine was already helping her push the plunger down. “You did so well,” she praised. Three ticks of Blue Moon jubilance made their way into Gadget’s fuel, mollifying her. She shivered, and Katarine finished puppeting her claws, and helped her pull the syringe out. Then, the syringe was disposed of, and Katarine petted the top of Gadget’s helm. Gadget purred her engines to encourage, feeling perfectly content. “Have you eaten?”

 

“THEY GAVE US RATIONS,” Gadget mentioned, and Katarine hummed, nodding. Then, she went over to a small fridge by the sink, and pulled out a bowl, uncovering it. It was some kind of higher grade fuel, better than the gruel that was handed out. 

 

“Let’s get something good in you,” she said quietly, sitting on the couch. Gadget climbed into her spot, calves tucked against her legs, and slid her intake panel aside, extending her proboscis to slip into the bowl. She couldn’t taste it, but it was delightfully cold, and made her feel like she was actually consuming fuel rather than melted plastic. “That’s it, there we go.”

 

Gadget reached for the bowl and Katarine shook her helm, chimes jingling. “You’ll spill it. Not today.” So the smaller empurata dropped her claws, content to let Katarine hold it for her to drink. She almost fell asleep halfway through, she was so relaxed. Katarine’s coddling never made her feel smothered -- if something she did made Gadget uncomfortable, she was quick on the draw to figure it out and stop. Eventually, Gadget had started telling her before she had to guess, and the two had perfected this ritual down to a science. Katarine waited until Gadget slurped what was left, and then said, “Okay, we’re done,” and took it away, placing it on the endtable by the couch. Her arms folded around Gadget, and the empurata trilled happily, brain maxing out on happy chemicals. It was heaven. The drug was making her high, and she was being hugged -- cuddled by someone that, dare she say, she trusted. Life -- for at least this little while -- didn’t look so bleak.

 

“Time to go to bed, little one,” Katarine said quietly, and Gadget shook her helm. Going to bed meant laying in her cell, cold, alone. It meant not getting this for months on end, even though the time in between vials was growing shorter and shorter by every tick up she went. “Yes,” Katarine said, “You have to. I know. It’s no fun.”

 

Gadget protested by not standing when Katarine put her down, and the deer resisted the urge to smile, very obviously fighting it. “Now Gadget,” she admonished, laughter barely restrained in her voice, “this is silly. Stand up, dear. You need to go to bed. You can’t stay.”

 

Gadget shook her head again, enjoying the little game. Katarine hauled her up, but she just made her legs limp again when the deer tried to put her on her feet. “Come now,” she chided, still trying not to laugh, “you’re acting silly. If you get up, you can play with my bamboo chimes.”

 

That caught Gadget’s attention. She finally stood when Katarine lifted her, and turned around. The guard bunted her forehelm, patiently waiting with a tiny smile as Gadget played with the chimes, dazed contentedly, drunk off of how good she was feeling. The walk back was her time to come down from her second high, her rare drug. She didn’t want to come down. The chimes clacked soothingly, melodic in a soft kind of way. Katarine let her play for a few more seconds before standing, extending her hand. “Come now. Off to bed.”

 

Gadget sulked, but allowed herself to be led out of Katarine’s room, back to her cell. The hand on her back was gentle, as usual, as it pushed her in, and she lay down in bed, covering herself. Already her plating ached, cold. Katarine wished her goodnight and sweet dreams and left to continue her rounds.

 

One day, Flashbang woke up excited, before wakeup call. And by excited, Gadget meant happier than she had ever seen Flashbang. Their half-friendship had died off -- at least on Gadget’s end, being frequently absent did that.

 

“Gadget,” she squealed, “Guess what.”

 

“WHAT?”

 

“Guess!”

 

Gadget sighed. She didn’t have the patience. “I DON’T KNOW.”

 

“I’m getting out soon!” She cried, beaming. “I have a year left! A year! Oh, man… Six hundred thousand years… has it really been so long? How long do you have left?”

 

Gadget wasn’t sure. She thought about it for a second, and it came to her. “A HUNDRED THOUSAND.”

 

“Oof,” Flashbang said, “Home stretch. You’ve made it this far, huh blue moon? Maybe it’ll be smooth sailing from here on out.” 

 

It was not. A year later, Gadget watched Flashbang get out -- watched her leave the cell for the last time, watched her walk down the hall to freedom and out of the guts of hell. The Camien waved goodbye to her peppily, beaming the entire while, and Gadget hated her for it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Gadget continues using Blue Moon jubilance and has to ask the guard Katarine for some more. Katarine takes Gadget back to her room where it's revealed that Katarine is an outlier in the sense that she doesn't interface with prisoners and simply wants someone to care for. She tells Gadget about some of her history as a blacksmith with her wife, which Gadget looks up and finds absent from her Autobot file.
> 
> \- Miracle/Chermiin continues with her training, but with Quickwit, not all is as it seems, and he's very keen on making her his perfect warrior for Megatron.
> 
> \- Sunbeam and Havoc have left the Nemesis to go to a smaller ship, run by a mech named Doubleshot. It has a widespread drug problem and most of its crew members are washups who don't want to be noticed.
> 
> \- Gadget and Katarine continue to bond and by now Gadget relies on Katarine's emotional care and support.


	24. To Cross-Inquire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The DJD find a use for our hero Gadget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possible trigger warnings:
> 
> \- rape threat as a form of torture starting with the line "well," tarn said..." and ending with "AND IF I'M NOT LYING AT ALL?"
> 
> \- (untrue) mention of rough interface starting with "Gadget tilted her helm..." and ending with "I WOULDN'T EXACTLY DESCRIBE HER AS NURTURING..."
> 
> \- violence and gore mention starting with "wait," the other bot said, "wait i don't know-!" and ending with "gadget waited a moment, evaluating..."

Precisely a thousand years before the four million year mark of this accursed war, Gadget was called to a meeting on  _ that day. _ She hadn’t been called for centuries.

 

Her new cellmate was a Decepticon, some old gruff bot who ignored her, and she him. She followed the guard to the warden’s office, a door she was glad to say she wasn’t that familiar with anymore (or if she was, the jubilance had kindly glossed over her memory). Two guards stood outside. Katarine was on the right. Wingspan was on the left, grim and tense. The third guard left, and Katarine smiled at Gadget, but something was wrong. Perhaps it was centuries of stolen moments laying in Katarine’s arms, but the speedster noticed… a gleam in her eye, something off. 

 

Katarine was  _ scared. _ Gadget didn’t react, as the door opened and she walked through, about to head to her chair. She stopped. It was occupied, and not by The Pet. No, something -- some _ one _ much bigger. Kaon had brought his commander, this time. Thinstreak looked about ready to piss himself, as the door shut behind her. He shot her a look, almost pleading “don’t fuck it up”. She tilted her visor in a clear statement of “I make no promises”, and kept walking, drifting around Tarn, sizing him up. His red eyes stared down at her, and she held his gaze. His jaw rested on one fist, and he hummed, quietly, thoughtfully. “So you’re who I’ve heard so much about.”

 

Gadget flicked a finial. “PERHAPS. WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT?” 

 

Tarn outright burst out a single “ha!” and Thinstreak jumped, as Tarn chuckled a little more, settling. “An Autobot with a  _ spine, _ how lovely. Oh, yes, I can see why Kaon wanted you on the team. A shame it had to go the other way.”

 

Gadget’s tanks rolled. He had seen the video. Kaon had showed it to everyone, just like he said he would. “SOUNDS LIKE A YOU PROBLEM.”

 

“Gadget,” Thinstreak snapped, “shut up. Would you rather be headless?”

 

“No, no, let her speak,” Tarn said, fist uncurling from propping his head up to pat the air, as if to tamp down the idea. “I almost like her. Abrasive, in a charming sort of way. But it’s time to get to business, so… Gadget -- am I getting that right? Gadget, my sweet dear, we might need your help. And since you’ve come through beautifully in the past, we thought we could ask you some questions. I’m here as well because this is a more… serious matter than a simple roundup.”

 

Thinstreak sighed, hands shaking, and Gadget looked at him. She came to a stop vaguely behind his desk, clawtip picking at some flaking paint on her other arm. That was the downside to jubilance. Take it long enough and your paint didn’t hold worth shit. She could feel Tarn’s eyes on her, curious, inquisitory. “Gadget,” the warden started, “what do you know about Katarine? Flashbang mentioned you two were… close, of a sort.”

 

“YOU MEAN FUCKING.”

 

Thinstreak tried very hard to keep his composure as Kaon snorted a giggle, bringing a hand up to his mouth to muffle it until he got himself back under control. Thinstreak gritted his teeth, keeping very calm. “I suppose, if you must be so crass.”

 

“YEAH. SHE GETS ME THINGS. WE HAVE AN ARRANGEMENT.”

 

“So you know some things about her, then.”

 

“I SUPPOSE.” 

 

“Do you know anything about her history?” Thinstreak questioned, edging her towards something, nudging her. Tarn interrupted, shifting in his chair. 

 

“What the  _ good _ warden is trying to ask, Gadget,” he cut in, “is if Katarine of Iacon is really Katarine of Iacon.”

 

Gadget shrugged. “I HAVE NO REASON TO BELIEVE SHE ISN’T. I DON’T KNOW WHO ELSE SHE WOULD BE.”

 

Tarn studied her. “Mhm.” All was quiet for a moment, and his voice broke the silence so hard that Thinstreak flinched, even though it was still the same soft, conversational tone. “Are you lying to me, Gadget?”

 

“NO.”

 

“Do you know what happens if you’re lying to me? I don’t appreciate being lied to very much.”

 

“ENLIGHTEN ME.”

 

“Well,” Tarn said, as if he was explaining how he liked his fuel, “first I’m going to ask the good warden to call Chromepoint in here. Then, I’m going to ask Kaon to leave -- after all, five in this room is just too crowded -- but don’t worry, he won’t be bored. He’s going to find Haven and fry him until his processor bursts into flames.” Tarn beckoned her forwards. She didn’t come. Thinstreak shoved her forwards, and she stumbled over, where Tarn reached out and grabbed her by the chin, making her walk those last few steps. “Then, as you are bent over this desk, I am going to have Chromepoint go  _ again _ , and  _ again, _ and  _ again, _ until you tell me the truth or you die. If you tell me the truth, I  _ might _ make your death swift.”

 

“AND IF I’M NOT LYING AT ALL?”

 

Tarn hummed, and it twanged at her spark. “I would be grateful for your cooperation,” he said after a moment, evaluating, “and you would walk out of this meeting unscathed and with my respect. I like you, Gadget of Carthex. Don’t disappoint me.”

 

Gadget almost ratted Katarine out, right then and there. The thought of Chromepoint being anywhere near her in this office made her almost black out. But then she thought of the late nights, the coddling, the care -- and she stuck to her guns. That’s how Tarn got his info, Gadget reminded herself. He had perfected the art of making people  _ think _ he’d called their bluff. She just had to bluff harder. After all, the only way she was getting out of this now was to sell the con. It felt good to look him in the eye and lie to his face. It felt like another drug. She got a rush from it as if she’d skipped a half step and gone up a whole tick for her next dose of jubilance. “WOULDN’T DREAM OF IT.”

 

Tarn considered, red eyes staring down like two suns, and Gadget was very,  _ very _ worried that she had just fucked herself over. “I see.” Silence hung in the air for a few more moments, nary a vent taken in from either Autobot. “Then why aren’t you breathing?” He murmured, leaning down. She could almost see his eyes flicking around to take her in behind the eyeglass of the mask.

 

“I AM TOUCH AVERSE,” Gadget supplied, immediately, truthfully. “AND YOU ARE HOLDING MY FACE.”

 

“Oh,” Tarn said, lightly, still dangerous. “My apologies.” He released her, still menacing, and she did feel a little better, enough to breathe again. She was never more grateful for Blue Moon than she was in that moment. It was probably the only thing keeping her calm enough to sell this. “Is that better?”

 

“MUCH.”

 

“Then why does the warden look so tense, then? I just have so many questions, forgive me. I know you must be terribly busy. What type of jubilance takes your fancy, hm? If I had to guess, I would say… Yellow Flame, perhaps?”

 

“CLOSE,” Gadget said, tilting her visor. She could play this game, this know-everything game. “PURPLE NIGHTS. HOW’S THAT NUKE TASTE IN YOUR FUEL? OR YOUR TRANSFORMATION ADDICTION?”

 

“Impressive,” Tarn said, voice unreadable. “So you know things. You haven’t answered my question on why the warden seems so nervous.”

 

“HOW SHOULD I KNOW WHAT BOUNCES AROUND BETWEEN HIS AUDIALS? IT’S PROBABLY BECAUSE HE’S A PUSSY. HE WAS NERVOUS BEFORE I GOT HERE.”

 

Tarn nodded, thoughtfully, considering. “Thank you for cooperating,” he said, “just a couple more questions. Has Katarine told you anything about her life before here? Anything, at all?”

 

_ I was a blacksmith, _ Katarine’s voice echoed in her head. She shrugged. “MAYBE A MEDIC OR SOMETHING? A COP? I DON’T KNOW. I’M ALWAYS HIGH OUT OF MY MIND WHEN WE MEET UP.”

 

“A medic,” Tarn mused, “interesting. Like, say… a blacksmith?”

 

Gadget shook her head. “NOT RINGING A BELL. I MIGHT JUST BE MIXING IT UP WITH HAVEN. I LIKE TO KEEP MY BRAIN FRIED.”

 

“I see.” Tarn nodded. “Did she mention anything about a Senator, perhaps? An alt-mode change?”

 

“NO,” Gadget said, “I DON’T THINK SO. MAYBE SHE SAID SOMETHING ABOUT SAVING A SENATOR’S LIFE OR SOMETHING. SHIT. THAT’S PALAVER. SORRY.”

 

“No worries,” Tarn said, lightly, “jubilance will do that, from what I’ve heard. But anyone in this place that knows anything is on some sort of _drug,_ it seems. Has Katarine mentioned the name _Dunedealer?”_

 

Gadget shook her head, truthfully this time. “NAH. THAT’S A CARTHEX TYPE OF NAME, WHO ARE YOU LOOKING FOR?”

 

“None of your concern,” Tarn said, “just that she’s on the List. We’re going through possible suspects. One final question.”

 

Gadget waited. He sighed, waving a hand as if searching for his words. “Is she very...  _ nurturing? _ Does she baby you at all, or anyone you’ve seen? You see -- I suppose Dunedealer missed being a blacksmith when she was in our ranks. She had a reputation for coddling anyone that would come to her, to the point of treating them like sparklings. It’s a very telling trait. I doubt it was easily shed, or if she was able to drop the trait at all.”

 

Gadget tilted her helm. “SHE LIKES TO HOLD ME DOWN WHEN WE FUCK. SHE DOESN’T HURT ME, SO I JUST LET HER GO. SHE GETS ME MY DRUGS. WE LEAVE. SHE’S NICE WHEN SHE PUSHES ME BACK IN MY CELL. I WOULDN’T EXACTLY DESCRIBE HER AS NURTURING.”

 

“Hmm.” Tarn put his chin between his fingers. “How odd. We’ve spoken to a couple of others, and their accounts conflict yours. At least, parts do. None of them confirmed any past history -- so that checks out. But the thing is… they all describe her as extremely tender.”

 

Gadget stared up at him.  _ Don’t crack, don’t crack. You’re dead anyways if you crack. _ “MY GUESS IS THEY WERE TELLING YOU WHAT YOU WANTED TO HEAR. YOU ASK LEADING QUESTIONS AND INTIMIDATE YOUR WAY INTO ANSWERS. THEY PROBABLY JUST PICKED UP ON HINTS YOU WERE GIVING AND CRACKED BY THE END OF IT.”

 

Tarn tilted his head. “And what makes you so different?”

 

Gadget shrugged, at a loss. “HELL EXISTS. IT’S HERE. THERE’S NOT TOO MUCH YOU COULD DO THAT HASN’T BEEN DONE ALREADY. I JUST CHECK OUT NOW. I MEAN. MAYBE IF YOU TOOK ME APART AND STRUNG ME UP. YEAH. THAT’S NEW. BUT…” Gadget shrugged again. “CAN’T REALLY GIVE A FUCK AT THIS RATE. DON’T KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU.”

 

“How enlightening,” Tarn murmured, pausing for a moment. “Thank you for your cooperation. I suppose the evidence  _ is _ only circumstantial, and grasping at best. Hm.” 

 

Kaon leaned forwards and grabbed his arm, jerking his helm backwards. Tarn got up to speak to him in hushed tones, and Thinstreak and Gadget both shot a look at each other that could only be described as nervous camaraderie. Gadget turned up her audials.

 

“... could get us a name,” Kaon was saying. “I think I know how we could do it. There’s that other one who had more information in solitary. When we mentioned Sandscraper, he reacted.” 

 

Tarn looked over his shoulder at Gadget and she tilted her helm. He turned back to Kaon, speaking a little lower. If Gadget turned up her audials anymore there’d be feedback, so she struggled to pick up what she could. “...in there with him. Perhaps..” mumbling ensued, unintelligible, “... get results.”

 

“Works for me,” Kaon said, and then Tarn turned back to Thinstreak. 

 

“Thinstreak, my dear warden,” he said, arms widening. “Come with us and bring Gadget, hm?”

 

The warden got up immediately, and cuffed Gadget by the wrists behind her back, towing her along behind the macabre posse. She tottered along, down the back halls, and balked when the solitary cells came into view, heels scraping on the ground. Thinstreak snarled and yanked her forwards.

 

Kaon came to stand by the third cell down, Tarn behind him. “Gadget,” the red and gold bot cooed, “We don’t really feel like you’re giving us everything you know.”

 

“SO WHY HAVEN’T YOU JUST KILLED ME?” Gadget challenged, trying to struggle out of Thinstreak’s grip. He planted a hand at the back of her neck and squeezed, hard.

 

“Consider it a very _gracious **second chance,”**_ Tarn cut in, gesturing to the solitary cell. Thinstreak, with his free hand, pressed the buttons in the opening combination and it slid open, revealing someone who was shaking and whimpering. “Warden? If you would.”

 

Thinstreak pushed her forwards despite her flailings and shoved her into the cell so forcefully she fell over onto her front. She scrabbled back to a sitting position and turned around to face them -- Kaon smirked an ugly smirk. She glowered up at his hateful eyeless face, fuel boiling at his insufferable grin as he stood next to Thinstreak and in front of Tarn. He was standing right in the blinding shaft of light cutting into the murky blackness of the solitary cell. Gadget's temporary host -- and fellow interrogatee -- whimpered on the ground next to her, cuffed the same way she was

 

“I don't know anything, I swear,” he sobbed. Tarn, behind both Kaon and the warden, snorted a chuckle. Kaon nearly preened.

 

“Have you ever seen two turborats in a bag?” he asked, tone devilish. Gadget tilted her helm. Something was changing. Kaon tossed in a key to both sets of cuffs and nodded. “You want out of here, Gadget?”

 

The empurata nodded quickly. She wasn’t going to tell them Katarine’s name, but the dumbass next to her was apparently barking up the wrong tree as to who he thought Dunedealer was -- and she was just fine with that. He’d crack before she did, she could smell it. As soon as he did, she could hop on his train and carry the investigation away from Katarine. Tarn chuckled softly, but she barely registered it. Kaon stared her down.

 

“Get me a name,” he said, specifying the terms of her release, and shut the door.

 

Thinstreak, outside, stood dutifully by Kaon with his hands clasped behind his back. A scuffle sounded, with the clatter of the keycard in the midst of it. Then, there was the clanking of cuffs coming undone.

 

“Wait,” the other bot said, “wait, wait I don’t know-!” 

 

Screams ensued, with the rending of plating and the screech of claws against metal. A whirring noise started up.

 

“Wait no not my eye! Wait  _ waaai-!” _ The howls made Thinstreak cringe, and the horrible wet cracking sound of deep internal injuries floated into the air. 

 

“Wait I’ll tell you,” he sobbed after barely two minutes, “I’ll tell you! It’s Sandscraper! That’s who you’re after, I remember her saying things that matched your description! And my friend worked in the facility that rehabilitated her just please get her off of me _ eagh!” _

 

“Warden, if you would,” Tarn said calmly over the screams, and Thinstreak nodded, punching in the code and feeling a little sick to his tanks. The door slid open, and Gadget crouched there like a feral creature, drenched in spurts and squirts of energon and eye fluid. She held an eyeball in her triple claw.

 

“You are disgusting,” Thinstreak growled, but Kaon held up a hand. Tarn spoke as Gadget got up, looking at the eyeball a minute before reluctantly dropping it and stepping out of the cell. In the cell, the interrogatee weeped, and Thinstreak curled his lip in disgust. He didn’t feel like dealing with it right now -- so he shut the door.

 

“Well, you have my respect as promised, Gadget of Carthex,” Tarn drawled. “You may go. I would give you the whole warning about telling anyone about this little arrangement the warden and I have -- after all, he  _ is _ replaceable, but it’s so much paperwork -- but you’ve known about this for a while now, haven’t you.”

 

Gadget waited a moment, evaluating, and started walking, still keeping an eye on him. Finally, she turned away, walking to the door and waiting for it to open. As it did, Tarn took a breath. “Oh,” he called, “and one more thing.”

 

Gadget turned, questioning. Tarn waved a hand idly. “Why did you tell me that you use Purple Nights when you actually use Blue Moon?”

 

Gadget shrugged. “US JUNKIES. WHAT CAN I SAY.” Not giving him time to respond, she started walking away, following the guard that had come to pick her up. They branched off down a separate hallway and disappeared into the depths of the prison.

 

“Shall we?” Thinstreak said, gesturing back to the general region of his office.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we do what we must to survive, indeed.
> 
> what do you all think?


	25. Elisions of a Decidedly Physical Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gadget and Haven bond further, an upset happens with prison leadership, and Chermin doesn't understand what's happened to her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible trigger warning:**
> 
> **mentions of drug use throughout the chapter.**
> 
> **mention of gadget's third and final sexual assault starting with the line "the next day, she grabbed a syringe from the box without looking..." and ending with "She left that appointment, and anxiously awaited the day Katarine would be transferred back..." (the assault is not shown)**
> 
> **gore mention starting with the line "she pulled the trigger..." and ending with the line "She looked down at her shaking claws..."**
> 
> **implied and mentioned cannibalism starting with the line "As the days passed..." and ending with the final line in the series.**

Two days later, Gadget ran out of jubilance. Like clockwork, she propositioned Katarine, and the two went back to the guard’s room, more grim than usual. Katarine shut the door and immediately knelt, opening her arms. Gadget rushed into them, hugging her tight, lifting her legs to hook them around Katarine’s back. She never wanted to let go. This had almost been ripped from her.

 

“Little one,” Katarine murmured, hand rubbing Gadget’s back. Her other arm went to support Gadget’s skidplate, as both arms tightened. The bigger empuratee’s vents were ragged. “you didn't have to lie to them for me. I would  _ never _ want to see you bleed for me.”

 

“I MADE MY CHOICE,” Gadget said, manually lowering the volume on her vocalizer. “I KNEW I COULD PULL IT OFF IF I STUCK TO IT.”

 

“Don’t you  _ ever _ gamble with your life like that again,” Katarine muttered fiercely, shaking her once to emphasize “ever”. “Not with  _ them. _ Never with  _ them.” _

 

They stayed like that for a while, and after a minute or two Katarine rose, field a little less chaotically relieved. “Now,” she said, voice softer, “that’s too big of a grown-up problem for tonight. Come, I’ll get you some snacks and we can sit here and calm down.”

 

Gadget nodded quietly, vents calming, as Katarine went over to the small kitchenette and pulled out a jar of candies. “Just three,” she said, voice gently warning, “or you'll get a tankache.” She put the three candies on the counter and set the jar down as well. Gadget surreptitiously tried to reach for the jar, but Katarine pulled her wrist back. “No, dear. Just three.”

 

She pulled out a bag of sodium snacks. Katarine loved sodium snacks -- they were her favorite. She ate so many so regularly that her paint nanites had turned piebald before Gadget had even met her. Gadget grabbed her allotted three candies, and they moved to the couch, as Katarine put the other two candies on the endtable with her snacks. Gadget reached for them, engine revving poutily in protest as she trilled. Katarine hushed her, stroking down her jaw. “You can still have them, little one. One at a time.”

 

At that, Gadget relaxed, unwrapping her first candy and popping it into her intake. It was a gummy. Her grippers dismantled it, as Katarine put a sodium lump in her mouth and sucked on it. Gadget stared at a splotchy patch of bleached white nanites on Katarine’s shoulder. She had been shifted, turned to the side like she normally was when Katarine held her. Her legs were tucked up, her arms held close to her chest too. She’d found that this position instantly calmed and quieted her, even if she hadn’t shot up beforehand. She didn't know what it was, but she didn't bother to question it. She just rode her second high for as long as she could. Katarine even told her a story, voice soft like a lullaby. It was the myth of Rhokien bamboo -- those chimes were still Gadget’s favorite.

 

“A great many years ago,” Katarine began, and the speedster felt herself relax even more, her whole body feeling shapeless at this point. She could feel Katarine’s sparkbeat through her chestplates, steady. “The gods decided that the planet was too empty. They had already made people, and plants, and animals -- but something, something so specific, was still missing.”

 

Gadget listened placidly, shifting to get even more comfortable. Katarine continued. “And so one day, as a villager was leaving her garden, she noticed a patch of sticks rising from the ground. She went over to pull them up, confused at why they were green like new growth. When she pulled them, they would not come up. When she tried to dig them out, her shovel could never reach far enough. Every day they grew, just a little bit more, and finally she gave up, starting to tend to them as if they were a part of her garden. She brought her wife out to see them, on a cold winter’s day. The new plant had shed its meager leaves from its stalks, the stalk still strong and healthy.”

 

Katarine paused for a moment, hand stroking down Gadget’s jaw, again and again. “She brought her wife out, and she pointed at the plant and said, ‘When that plant stops growing and dies is the day that I will stop loving you.’ The gods heard this, and were moved by her statement. So they gifted the plant with eternal life, even though she had just been planning to replace them every time they wilted. They gifted the plant the ability to grow and grow and spread, all over the planet to send the message. Soon, thick forests covered the planet, all growing, reaching to the heavens until they could reach no longer, choked by lack of air. Even if their tops fell, they still lived, long past this villager and her wife. It could be used for  _ anything. _ Kindle, housing, thatching, ropes, concrete, paper, art,” she shook her head just a tad, making her decorations jingle and make noise, “But the most notable use was wind chimes. Soon, every married house had one above the front door, to bless the house with undying love. They say when the wind blows through them, you can hear the two wives singing to each other.”

 

Gadget unwrapped the second candy, claws fiddling with it. Katarine gently took it from her and unwrapped it for her, kissing the top of her helm. A quick peck. It made the tingling start up again at the back of Gadget’s head and she trilled quietly, accepting the gummy back to put it in her intake. All too soon, their time was up. Gadget was more resistant this time. She didn’t want to leave. She had made the executive decision that she was staying and wouldn’t be dissuaded.

 

“Gadget,” Katarine said, as Gadget lay on the floor in defiance, engines revving, “It’s time for bed.” She reached for her and Gadget got up, dodging her hands and going to hide under the table. Katarine sighed, and sat on the couch, crossing her legs. “Gadget,” she said, “I am not going to chase you, this isn’t a game. I am going to count to three. If I get to three, you will be leaving without your medicine tonight. You will come back tomorrow night to get it and we will hug, but I will not cuddle you, and you will get no candy.”

 

Gadget drooped, hesitating. Katarine waited patiently. “I’m not angry,” she said softly. “I don’t want you to leave either, little one. You aren’t being bad. I understand why you want to stay. But it’s bedtime.”

 

The speedster dragged herself out from under the table, dreading it. Sulking, she stood, and Katarine hugged her, thanking her for listening. The guard fetched the supply, handing Gadget a box of two vials. She bunted Gadget’s forehelm, and led the smaller empurata out of the room.

 

A week later, Thinstreak himself showed up outside of Gadget’s cell, tense.  _ “Someone _ requested I pass this on to you.” Gadget got up, as Thinstreak took a vial like her other ones out of his subspace, and handed it to her. She took it, studying it. There was a note attached. 

 

_ “Dear Gadget, _

 

_ Take this as a token of my thanks. You were very helpful. Included with this note is a vial of grade ‘A’ Blue Moon jubilance. Us junkies, indeed.” _

 

The note was signed with a stamped seal, a modified Decepticon badge like Tarn’s mask. Gadget’s roommate was gone, had been ever since the meeting. She put the note on her endtable and tucked the vial away in her box, in an empty space. Grade A was strong stuff, filtered until it was nearly pure. She would have to savor that vial. She drew her nightly dose -- three and a half ticks, which was approaching the end of its run -- and injected it, shivering as the beginnings of her cravings were sated.  More and more of a vial was getting used up, as more and more drug was required to give her a high. A vial used to last her ages -- now it lasted months. 

 

The next day, she grabbed for a syringe from her box without looking, and came up with empty air. Dread bloomed. She snatched the box open. It was empty. She'd used them all up. She rushed over to the small trash can she kept at the end of her bed, and dove in. She found one, as footsteps approached. Her spark thundered gratefully, as she turned to ask Katarine if she could get more syringes -- but it wasn't Katarine. It was some newbie, a motorcycle around her size. He had a toothy grin and an elaborate, well-maintained paintjob. “Whatcha rootin’ around in the trash for?”

 

Gadget gripped the syringe a little tighter. “WHERE’S KATARINE?”

 

“Oh, her? She got switched to the day shift for a little while, so I could get night experience. I'm new. My name's Transmission.” He eyed her, and Gadget didn't miss the way he licked his chops. “Say, if I can get -- what’s his name, Wingspan? If I can get Wingspan to cover, you could give me a lil’ somethin’ and I could get you some needles… what do you take, speeders?”

 

Gadget didn’t answer. Transmission’s grin fell away. “Oh, come on. It's my first night shift, the older mecha finally let me graduate to night shift.”

 

The empurata started to retreat from the bars with her recycled syringe, and Transmission frowned harder. “Well I s’pose I could just confiscate your little setup. After all, illegal drugs  _ are  _ banned in Garrus-10.”

 

Gadget puffed up her plating, terror coursing through her. Transmission waited a minute longer, and shrugged, starting to unlock the door. “Okay then, hand it all over.”

 

Gadget threw the syringe in the box and marched over, grabbing him businesslike by the wrist and tugging him out of the cell. He tottered along after her, grinning again. “Woah, okay! Eager.”

 

Once they were both out in the hall, Gadget shut the door to her cell, in case anyone thought it was a good idea to steal her things. She dropped Transmission’s wrist, part of her already beginning to check out. “I’LL FOLLOW YOU.”

  
  


\-------------------------------

  
  


The next day, Gadget bugged one of the day guards into taking her to the clinic. Haven was on shift, and she strode in, as the guard waited outside, and jumped up on a berth, all business. She spread her legs, one after the other, and her heels hit the berth, _ thump thump. _ “RAPE KIT,” she said, “ANOTHER ONE. IT WAS A NEW GUARD ON THE NIGHT SHIFT. HIS NAME IS TRANSMISSION.”

 

Haven, who had been watching her with some degree of shock, shook himself out, coming over. “Are you alright?” he murmured, laying a hand on her knee. She nodded, staring up at the ceiling.

 

“FINE. JUST GET IT OVER WITH.”

 

He sighed, hand patting her knee twice. “Crack ‘em open, then, I’ll get a datapad.”

 

Gadget opened her panels, and Haven shuffled back over, readying the kit. He checked out her valve for tearing, and shuffled around in the kit before returning between her legs. Gadget waited for him to do something, spark jittery. “Any pain, or discomfort?”

 

“NO. WHY, HAVE YOU GOT THAT CAMERA WITH THE LIGHT ON IN THERE OR SOMETHING? I THINK I FEEL A LITTLE BIT OF SOMETHING.” 

 

Haven looked from his hand between her legs to her visor. “Gadget, I’ve got three fingers in here. Why didn’t you mention lack of feeling before?”

 

Gadget shrugged. “I COULDN’T REALLY FEEL TRANSMISSION’S SPIKE ON MY VALVE WALLS. I COUNTED IT A BLESSING.”

 

Haven sighed, tilting his head to one side and lifting his eyebrows as if to say “can't fault you there". “Okay, describe what lack of feeling you have, like… totally numb all the time, weird pains at random, can feel pressure but not immediate sensation?”

 

“LAST ONE.” 

 

“Good, so it's not necrosis,” Haven mumbled, and the empurata sighed through her vents. 

 

“TRANSMISSION SHOWED ME WHAT MY VALVE LOOKS LIKE NOW.”

 

“I know it's not the prettiest,” Haven said apologetically, “but you were going into shock right on the table. A hack and chop was the best I could do in the moment.”

 

“I GET IT. THANK YOU. OUT OF CURIOSITY, WHAT HAPPENED TO THE CALIPERS AROUND MY VALVE OPENING?”

 

“They were long gone by the time you went under the laser scalpel,” Haven confessed, moving on to taking a few pictures required for the kit. Gadget didn't care. Her valve didn't feel personal anymore. It didn't feel like hers. “I cleaned up and snipped off what pieces were hanging on. Your muscle cabling had been nearly totally stripped away around the opening so… you really don't have a valve ring anymore. I'm sorry.”

 

Gadget waved it aside. “I WOULDN’T HAVE COME IN, BUT HE MADE ME OVERLOAD.”

 

Haven paused. “Come again?”

 

“HE MADE ME-"

 

“No, I got that, that’s a lot to unpack,” Haven said, waving it aside. “Why wouldn't you have come in?”

 

Gadget shrugged slowly, at a loss. “I… I MEAN, I CONSENTED, TECHNICALLY, RIGHT? I NEEDED SYRINGES. INTERFACE WAS THE PRICE. I JUST DIDN'T WANT IT TO GET PERSONAL AND I DIDN'T WANT TO ENJOY IT.”

 

“God,” Haven said, covering his eyes with his primary hands and dragging them down his face. “Absolutely not. First of all, he’s a guard and you’re a prisoner, so you can't consent to sexual activity right off the bat. Second of all, what would have happened if you didn't consent?”

 

Gadget felt a frisson of shame bloom in her tanks. “HE WOULD HAVE TAKEN AWAY MY JUBILANCE.” Haven knew she was on drugs. Practically the whole prison was, it seemed. People Gadget never would have suspected, but now she knew because she saw the signs, saw the hunger in their eyes. 

 

“Coercion,” Haven called it, firmly. “Third of all, you're on psychoaffective drugs. How high were you?”

 

“I WASN’T. NOT REALLY. I JUST COULDN’T MOVE. OR TALK. BUT I HADN’T HAD A HIT SINCE THE DAY PREVIOUS.”

 

“Fourth, tonic immobility,” Haven said, rapping a knee with his index knuckle. “The fact that he made you overload when you didn't want it is just a tiny tick in a long list of reasons why that's assault.”

 

Gadget’s spark hurt. “BUT HE MADE ME FEEL LIKE I WANTED IT,” she admitted, feeling small and helpless. Haven hummed sympathetically, putting the kit away after he'd gotten what he needed. Then, he gathered supplies to clean out her valve since her valve couldn't do it for her.

 

“He made your body react to external stimuli against your will,” Haven said, going back into her valve to clean transfluid. Gadget could barely feel it. “There’s a world of difference. It doesn't mean you wanted it. Frames react to stimuli. That's what they  _ do. _ It was a natural reaction and he used that against you.”

 

Gadget nodded, and Haven quieted as he cleaned. “You know,” he said, “if you get off of that jubilance, you're probably going to have depression like mine for the rest of your life. And if you don't get off of it, you'll die.”

 

“IT’S NOT TOO DIFFERENT FROM HERE, THEN, IS IT?”

 

“No,” Haven mumbled, “I guess it isn't.”

 

She left that appointment, and anxiously awaited the day Katarine would be transferred back. She prayed it would be before Transmission took an interest in her again. For once, her prayers were granted -- Transmission was being transferred to somewhere called “The Party Block". Katarine was back the night after his transfer, and drifted by Gadget’s cell on her nightly rounds. They couldn't exchange greetings -- not any deeper than casual nods, not here, so blatantly -- but Katarine’s eyes searched Gadget’s as she passed.  _ Are you alright? _

 

_ I will be, _ Gadget tried to project back, hoping she understood. Katarine had passed before Gadget received that certainty. Time dragged on. The speedster kept using jubilance, going through her regular vials faster and faster. Only rarely did she pull from her special vial -- she wanted to savor it. After her first hit from it, she had spent the next day  _ still  _ high out of her mind. It was the best high she’d ever had. If she had overdosed on that hit she would’ve died happy. It had slipped into her lines like liquid peace, as if someone had taken the notion of inner calm and distilled it into its purest form. Ever since then, she’d had to resist the impulse to pull all of her doses from it. She doubted she'd find one like it again. It was for special nights only. The months scraped on, and on. Cellmates came and went. Katarine and Gadget stole scraps of time when they could.

 

With only a little less than a thousand years left, Gadget was called to a meeting on _ that day _ again. Why, she didn't know and she couldn't bring herself to care. Her dosage was starting to be dissatisfying lately, not enough. She wished that she’d been called tomorrow instead of today -- she was going to up the dosage tonight, she knew it would be enough. It always was.

 

But she followed the guard, as she always did. Two guards stood by the warden’s door, as they always did. Chromepoint was on the left. She did not skirt around him when the door opened. He smacked her skidplate. She jumped, still.

 

She stepped in, and paused. Tarn was in her chair. A decanter filled with two fingers of engex sat on the corner of the warden’s desk in front of him. Gadget went to the chair on the left. The room looked funny like this. Thinstreak had gotten a new wall chronometer.

 

“WHERE’S SOCKETS?” Gadget asked, reclining in her chair and crossing a leg over her knee. Tarn tipped the decanter in her direction as a greeting.

 

“Brusque as always,” he said cordially. “Kaon decided that he was too bored to come today. I let him have his tantrum. If he wants to be a sparkling, he can stay in his room like one.”

 

Gadget shrugged, taking it. Behind his desk, Thinstreak downed his own decanter, sighing shakily. Tarn hummed. “Aged Vosian liquor,” he remarked, looking at his glass, “distilled twice. A lovely vintage. Would you care for some, Gadget? Thinstreak has been more than happy to share his collection. Very admirable of him.”

 

Gadget waved it off. “I DON’T DRINK.”

 

“Of course,” Tarn accepted. He paused. “Did you receive my gift?”

 

Gadget shuddered thinking about the high it gave her. “YES.”

 

“Did you enjoy it?”

 

“I CRACK IT OPEN EVERY NOW AND THEN. SAVE THE GOOD STUFF.”

 

“Very pragmatic,” Tarn nodded, agreeing. “I thought you’d be pleased to know that your testimony put us on the right track. We officially caught Dunedealer, oh, a year or so after our meeting. She admitted in the end. You were very helpful.”

 

Gadget flicked a finial to acknowledge. Thinstreak’s hands were shaking like he wanted to throttle something or run away -- Gadget wasn’t sure which. Tarn sighed lazily. “Well, let’s get down to business, I suppose,” he said. Thinstreak nodded, and glanced at Gadget. 

 

“Of course, Tarn. Gadget, you're staying behind today.”

 

Gadget went rigid, the only sign of her moving being her finials flattening. “WHY? I HAVEN'T FUCKING DONE ANYTHING.”

 

“Because I said so,” Thinstreak, and glanced at the door, almost as if it was subconscious. Gadget’s tanks dropped a thousand feet in a second. Something in her snapped, and maybe it was her half-high, quickly dwindling, that pushed her over the edge. Not again. Not for the third time. She had the whole meeting to come up with an escape plan. Thinstreak’s gun lay on the front edge of his desk like he'd put it there as a second thought on his way to sit down. If she could grab it when he wasn't looking, she would be much better off. But one person couldn't pull off a prison riot, not in here. She'd need backup.

 

She’d need high command. It was a good thing she spent so much time in solitary with nothing but security tapes to go through. So she began cataloging, compiling, compounding -- all of the medical records that had been released or just plain seized by Thinstreak. Her own records, rape kits and all. Prison population stats and autopsy reports. As she gathered her data, stringing it into a comprehensible report, her datacable began to slither out. Thinstreak was typing away at his computer, talking business and putting up with Tarn’s inane pleasantries. Her datacable hit the rug and slid along the fabric like a serpent, tri-claw open. 

 

Tarn looked over, likely seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, and Gadget just turned her visor to stare him down, moving the datacable forwards, and up, hiding behind the front wall of the desk. After all, he’d already seen her. Tarn just stared, watching, and Gadget swore she heard a little chuckle as he turned his attention back to Thinstreak. She was very nearly there.

 

Her claws breached the desk line, going forwards those last few bits to pick up the gun by its handle, careful not to make noise. She lifted it, and subtly drew it off the table, bringing it back to herself, where she kept it tucked under her leg, claws coming to rest around the trigger. Relief coursed through her, intoxicating. After a moment, she subspaced it, claws coming to rest back on her lap. Now the tables had turned, very much in her favor. If she could get the two to let their guard down, she could shoot one. She entertained vicious fantasies of shooting Chromepoint’s face off and drinking the fuel from his eye sockets. Briefly startled by how dark they had turned, she shook it off. No time to get rattled. Besides, Kaon was right.

 

Thinstreak  _ was _ very killable. 

 

The warden sat at his desk, squinting at his screen over his glasses, mouth quirked into a little puckered frown, checking over the list of new arrivals. Gadget put the finishing touches on her whistleblow and readied it to go out. Perhaps she couldn’t get the entire Autobot army personally -- but she could send it to high command and plaster it all over the datanet, just to be sure. Meanwhile, the gun lay in her subspace, a heavy, reassuring weight. Her vents calmed further, and she was glad she didn’t have a mouth so she didn’t smirk and give herself away. She was going to  **_fuck them up._ ** Thinstreak hummed, thoughtfully. “And is that all?”

 

“Has your medic taken out any t-cogs lately?”

 

“Mm…” Thinstreak thought on that. “Not sure. Just a moment.” He reached up to a comms station on his desk and pressed a button. Shuffling, and Palaver came over the line. 

 

“Howdy-doody, Palaver of Iacon speaking. What can I do?”

 

“Palaver,” Thinstreak cooed, but Gadget noticed he was suddenly very uncomfortable. “Oh, Palaver, my darling, I have a question for you. Is Haven there?”

 

“No,” the medic answered, “he’s off shift. Is that all?”

 

“Just one more question,” Thinstreak said, sickly sweet. 

 

“Well don’t keep me hanging,” Palaver said, and it sounded like he was washing tools or something. “I’ve got a patient coming in for a fuel line surgery soon.” Tarn shifted in his chair, and Gadget could almost feel the raised eyebrow in his field.  _ Well? _ It seemed to say.  _ That will do.  _

 

Thinstreak paused, mouth open just a tad. The empurata could tell that he didn’t want to bring Palaver down to everyone else’s level -- to dirty him, smear him with the moral grime that everyone else was caked in in here.  _ Outside rules don’t come in here, indeed, _ Gadget thought, recalling the words Thinstreak had said in his opening speech. Her memory fuzzed the rest of the sentence. She supposed it was better that way. Palaver stopped, on the other end of the line. “Thinstreak? You still there?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Thinstreak rushed, eyes cutting up nervously to Tarn. “By chance, is there a problem with that mech’s t-cog?”

 

_ “Thinstreak,” _ Palaver scolded, “You know diddly-darn well I can’t tell you that. That’s classified!”

 

“Palaver, would you be so kind as to humor me,” Thinstreak said, a little more desperately. “It’s  _ very _ important. One might say life or death.”

 

Tarn nodded, the hand that was propping his jaw up flipping its palm up, as his mouth seemed to be shrugging.  _ That’s about the size of it, _ he seemed to be saying. Gadget enjoyed watching the warden squirm. It made her want to take the gun and shoot him right now, just to hear him squeal like a stuck turbofox.

 

Palaver laughed. “Thinstreak, come on! You’re being funny, now. You’re joking, right? You have to be joking. What’s gotten into you?”

 

Thinstreak’s eyes flicked back up to Tarn, and he hesitated. “You could say…” he began, pausing to wet his lips. “You could... say I’m in a bit of a bind, currently. A  _ very _ tight one.”

 

Palaver paused. “Is someone else there with you?”

 

“Yes,” Tarn answered finally, apparently having lost his patience. “And I am going to say what the warden will not. I require a t-cog, Palaver of Iacon. If the mech receiving surgery has a healthy t-cog, I want you to extract it and give it to me.”

 

Palaver had gone very quiet. “So that’s the long and short of it, huh?”

 

“It is. What say you, hm? Did you know that your fellow doctor is on the List?”

 

“Haven?” Palaver squeaked. “No way, no way! I… this is unethical. This is so so so so unethical. I didn’t become a medic to  _ sell organs!” _

 

“Look at it this way,” Tarn said, voice a little harsher. “You aren’t receiving a cent for it. We were going to get to Haven further down the List -- after all, he isn’t a priority, and his suffering as of now is greater alive than dead. But we can certainly shift things around a bit. Your choice.”

 

Palaver went silent. “I suppose this would help the patient,” he mumbled to himself, fretting. “I suppose he wouldn’t have to wear that ghastly inhibitor anymore -- no worry about random expansion, I suppose that would help-”

 

“If you must look at it that way,” Tarn said dismissively. “I have had to deal with the warden for what feels like three hours. My patience has worn thin. I am sure you know how… mm,  _ waspish _ he can be. Annoying, perhaps?” Thinstreak’s fists tightened, and Tarn kept speaking. “No matter. I am well aware how long a t-cog extraction takes. I am also aware how long a fuel line surgery takes -- or at least, a range. The point is, by the time I show up at your doorstep, you had better have it on ice waiting for me, or… well. When does Haven come on shift?”

 

Palaver was quiet, and Gadget could hear his hands wringing. “I… understand.”

 

“Good,” Tarn purred, warmly. “Excellent. Autobots are always so obsequious. Isn’t that right, Gadget?”

 

“Gadget?” Palaver broke in, shocked. “Gadget, what are you doing there?”

 

“Gadget has a certain… mettle in her lines,” Tarn said, reaching out to run claws down the back of Gadget’s neck. She swatted his hand away, screen fuzzing as she ducked to the side. He chuckled and withdrew. “She isn’t a necessary party for this, I suppose. Thinstreak just likes to take his temper out on a doll after a particularly stressful get-together.”

 

Palaver’s engine revved. “You aren’t -- he wouldn’t -- you’re not implying-”

 

“I am,” Tarn said firmly. “Get me that t-cog, Palaver. I’ll be expecting it.” With that, he shut off the call, and Gadget fumed in her chair, thrown off her cold calm. Tarn had done that on purpose -- stirred three pots at once, for maximum chaos, as he got to sit back and watch the drama unfold. So Gadget was just called to these things to be available as a glory hole if Thinstreak needed one. That was it. She wasn’t  _ clever, _ or  _ useful, _ or  _ cunning _ \-- she was  _ easy, _ and she was furious with herself for not seeing it. She’d been blinded by the stroking of her ego, how “ _ smart” _ she was and how “ _ helpful” _ she was. Her fuel boiled in her lines and suddenly she wondered if she could maybe, just maybe, find a vent on Tarn’s side and jam her gun up real close, as if tucking it in, and pull the trigger. Maybe she could kill him. Or just really,  _ really _ hurt him. That’d be nice. He’d howl like a wounded animal and she could pull the trigger again, and again, blasting inch by inch closer to his spark until it exploded. And then she could move on to Thinstreak -- the door would be locked, there was nowhere for him to run except his room. That would be easy to hunt him down in. After she’d murdered Thinstreak she could move on to Chromepoint -- and then who knew? Transmission… that asshole who’d pushed her in line the other day -- she could go after anyone she wanted.

 

She was disrupted from her violent fantasy by Tarn standing up. “Well… I suppose that  _ does _ take care of business, Warden. I think I’ll go visit Palaver in the clinic now, hm?”

 

“Just --” Thinstreak burst out, and then sighed, eyebrows knitting together as his head bowed. “What if he doesn’t have it?”

 

“Then I will  _ take it.” _

 

“Just don’t -- hurt him,” Thinstreak almost begged, head lifting to pleadingly look Tarn in the eye. Gadget thought begging was a good look for him. “You at least owe me that.”

 

 _“Owe?”_ Tarn laughed, almost incredulously. _“I_ owe _you?_ Me? Oh, warden. My _dear, lovely_ warden.” He approached, reaching forwards to hold Thinstreak by the chin. “I owe you _nothing._ _You_ owe _me._ I could raze this place to the ground without lifting a pinkie. Instead, I _help_ you. I keep your prisoner count below maximum capacity so you can cut costs. Thinstreak, my dear mech.” Tarn tutted. “You should really be more grateful.”

 

Thinstreak stared up at him as if he were god, the flickering overhead rectangle lights his halo. Gadget tilted her helm, one leg crossed over at the knee, and watched him nod tacitly, eyes wide. Tarn chuckled, and released him, patting his cheek once. “Good mech. We’ll see about Palaver, hm? After all, there’s no need to be frivolously bloody. I suppose I could be kept waiting -- for just a couple of minutes. He  _ does _ seem pleasant.”

 

And he started to leave, and the spell fell away from Thinstreak’s face. The hate leeched back into his eyes, and he lifted two fingers to his audial. The door opened, and Chromepoint stood in the doorway -- stood aside for Tarn, half-bowed with a gleeful wave down the hallway. “After you,” he said, smugly, and Tarn nodded to him, stepping out the door. Gadget jumped to her feet, fuel pump roaring in her ears as her claws shook.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Thinstreak snapped, and indeed, ice cooled her. What was she doing? This was irrational. She stilled herself, looking back at Chromepoint, and then back to Thinstreak. “Sit down. I didn’t say you could get up.”

 

Gadget had a flash of brilliance hit her, and nearly laughed hysterically at the thought of her new plan playing out. Instead, she trained her visor intensely on Thinstreak, tilting it just a bit, and strode over, swaying her hips more than she normally would. She rounded the corner to his desk, and sidled up next to him, hopping up on the ledge and spreading her legs.

 

Thinstreak eyed her up and down. “You’re doing this to make things easier on yourself,” he accused, standing. He loomed over her, and she stared impassively up at him as Chromepoint edged closer, aura dark and menacing. “It won’t work, you know.” 

 

But Gadget could see his interest -- there was something different in the air, something new. Chromepoint advanced a little faster, and Thinstreak held up a hand, green eyes transfixed on her. “No. Not yet. Wait your turn.”

 

“My -- what? Boss, come on. You’re giving me sloppy seconds?”

 

“You said you like them wet,” Thinstreak snapped, yanking Gadget’s legs further apart.  “Sit down and shut up, and watch if you like. I don’t care.” He reached for his gun, hand fumbling around on his desk, and Gadget sat back a little, tapping his chest with the muzzle of it. 

 

“LOOKING FOR THIS?”

 

Thinstreak froze, and Chromepoint frowned. “Boss?”

 

“NOW,” Gadget droned, “HERE’S HOW THINGS ARE GOING TO GO. YOU’RE BOTH GOING TO SIT DOWN AND PUT YOUR SPIKES AWAY. THINSTREAK, SIT IN YOUR DESK CHAIR -- AND MAKE SURE TO REALLY APPRECIATE IT, BECAUSE YOU SHOULD BE GETTING A CALL FROM AUTOBOT HIGH COMMAND IN A FEW MINUTES. WELL? GO ON. SIT.”

 

Thinstreak did, very slowly, and Gadget hopped down off the desk, turning to Chromepoint. “AND AS FOR YOU. YOU HAVE CUFFS, DON’T YOU?”

 

“You fucking bitch,” Chromepoint snarled, and took out his gun. Gadget shot him in the shoulder at the joint, rendering his arm functionally useless. The gun clattered to the ground and Gadget’s datacable whipped out to snatch it up and bring it back to her.

 

“CUFF YOURSELF. NOW. I WANT TO SEE WRISTS PINNED TOGETHER LIKE YOU’RE GOING TO BE BENT OVER A DESK. NO NEED TO HUFF YOUR VENTS.”

 

Venting ragged, Chromepoint cuffed his hands together, glaring her down. “You think you're so smart, don't you,” he growled. “You-”

 

“I AM SMART,” Gadget said without room for debate as she kept one gun trained on him and one on Thinstreak. “AND YOU'RE DONE. GIVE ME A REASON TO SHOOT YOU. GO AHEAD.”

 

Chromepoint wisely shut his mouth. Gadget huffed, and the comms station on Thinstreak's desk rang, shattering the tense silence.

 

“WELL?” Gadget urged, tilting her screen. “PICK IT UP, WHY DON'T YOU?” She glanced to the door, to see if she would need to watch her back, and her cold efficiency halted itself for a fraction of a second. Tarn was watching, intrigued, as if he were a spectator in some great Praxian tragedy. Gadget shrugged it off as Thinstreak transferred the comm to his internal suite.

 

Screaming could be heard through his audial, and he flinched away, one eye squinting. Gadget nearly salivated, feet shuffling in place as she gleefully watched his discomfort. Her emotional state was just short of arousal at this point. “PUT IT BACK ON SPEAKER.”

 

“But-” Thinstreak whispered, eyes wide. Gadget brandished the gun.

 

“DO IT.”

 

He did it. His commander was still yelling. “-if half of this information is true you’re going to go away for the rest of your natural lifespan! What the fuck have you even been doing in there, Warden? What are we, Decepticons? Is this Grindcore? Are you going to melt half the population in a slaggin’ furnace?”

 

Tarn let out a little intrigued “hm” sound. Gadget could almost hear his mouth shrug and his eye ridges go up as he nodded a little. She flicked a finial his way, almost to remind herself to keep track of him. Thinstreak swallowed, hard.

 

“Well?”

 

“No, sir, it is not Grindcore,” Thinstreak murmured, wingtips fluttering. “There are always _accusations_ made, you know, a Warden as strict as I is never popular-”

 

“Accusations don’t usually come with rape kits testing positive for transfluid, Thinstreak. Not to mention transfluid that matches your nanite signature. You got an explanation for  _ that?” _

 

Thinstreak hesitated, eyes flicking up to Gadget. She shrugged as if to say “well, do you?”

 

He swallowed again. He had no more answers. He glanced up at Tarn as if begging him for help, and Tarn left him in the cold with a piercing red stare. The commander snorted.

 

“Pathetic,” he said, “High command will be there in the hour. You had better find a damn good attorney, because you’re looking at some serious charges.” A click sounded on the other end of the line and the comm went dead.

 

Thinstreak’s gaze shot up to Gadget. “How much did you tell them?”

 

“ENOUGH,” Gadget responded, delighting in his terror. “I HELD ON TO ONE OR TWO JUICY BITS, ALL FOR ME.”

 

“You dumb bitch,” Chromepoint hissed, cuffs rattling. “You think you’re so superior. Like anyone’s gonna believe you when you get here. They’ll see you’re just fucking nuts.”

 

Gadget turned on him, brandishing the gun in her right claws. “YOU NEED TO STOP TALKING.”

 

Chromepoint laughed a very ugly laugh. “I don’t think I need to do anything you sa-”

 

Years later, Gadget would still remember this moment with a sort of vicious pride, and only the most black-and-white morality policers could fault her fully. It was a moment where everything changed -- where all the puzzle pieces of the universe seemed to separate and draw back, floating all around her in random order before rearranging and zipping back into place. The new picture came into focus and it was breathtaking and exhilarating, new and unexplored. Garrus-10 was truly finished with her, having warped her beyond recognition from Heavylift of Carthex. From that day on, Gadget discovered she could kill to get people to do what she wanted them to, and that discovery was  _ not _ treated lightly.

 

She pulled the trigger, firing. The first shot blasted his head in half with a small explosion, brain matter spattering out. It killed him instantly, but she kept firing, fuel electric with mechadrenaline as she emptied the gun’s cartridge into him. His chair was pushed backwards from the blasts and she stomped over to the motionless, steaming body, and stamped her foot into the grey matter oozing out of the crater in his head, smearing it into the rug. Then she threw the empty gun away and turned back to Thinstreak, vents huffing. She looked down at her shaking claws as the magnitude of her actions hit her, and she fuzzed hysterical static, plating shivering. 

 

“Aren’t you going to help me?” Thinstreak pleaded to Tarn, who laughed.

 

“If you can’t even defend your own prison, warden, then why should I keep you around?” He turned back to Gadget, mockingly bowing. “I’ll be seeing you, hm?”

  
  


\--------------------------------

  
  


Palaver wrung his hands, as the patient recovered from fuel line surgery in a side bed. The harvested t-cog was resting in a nest of gauze, as Haven reported for his shift. Palaver rushed over to him. “You have to go!” he hissed, pushing at Haven’s windshield. “You have to go, you have to go!”

 

“Whuh?” Haven responded, tired face shocked. “What’s going on?”

 

“Tarn’s coming!” Palaver said,  “and he says you’re on the List!”

 

“Oh, Primus,” Haven muttered, seeming to relax. “Uh, yeah, kid. That’s uh… it’s been like that for a while. Don’t worry about it. I assume he wants a t-cog?”

 

“Yes, but -- don’t worry about it? What are you talking about?”

 

“They put me pretty far down,” Haven said, tiredly. “I’m sure this old bag of bolts has got a few years left yet. Here. Take off shift. I’ll give him the t-cog.”

 

“But-”

 

“Go, Palaver,” Haven ordered, a little firmer, but not unkind. The medibay air was cool, and Palaver hesitated a moment longer before scurrying out. The doors opened a few minutes after he’d left, and Tarn stood in the center of them. Haven eyed him, tamped down the tinge of dread in his spark, and sighed. “Well? Come on in.”

 

“Energetic as usual, Doctor,” Tarn quipped, coming to sit on a berth. “I suppose you have what I asked Palaver for?”

 

“Yeah.” Haven brought the t-cog over. “Lay back.”

 

Tarn did, as Haven came over to prep him. There was no preamble or talk of turning pain blockers on. “Oh,” the tank said, “I thought you’d want to know this -- Thinstreak isn’t going to be warden anymore. There’s been a bit of an… upset.”

 

Haven almost dropped the t-cog in his bottom hands. “What?” In spite of himself, he couldn’t help but worry about what that meant. Was Thinstreak dead? Why did he care? Why was he angry at himself for caring? That was what doctors did! “What happened?”

 

“A bit of a coup,” Tarn said idly, as Haven cut him open. “It seems Gadget of Carthex had finally reached the end of her cabling. Interesting how it all plays out, isn’t it?”

 

“I’m surprised she didn’t snap sooner,” Haven mumbled to himself. “So what, is he dead?”

 

“Oh no, he’s fine. You might be getting Chromepoint on your autopsy table, though. Apparently, Autobot High Command is coming in within the afternoon, so you can understand that I want this to be quick.”

 

Have pulled out the burnt-up t-cog, detaching the wires and placing it aside. “Crystal clear. Lie still.” The doctor stripped wires, added new coverings, and then started hooking the new t-cog in, hands flying gracefully. “Stop moving.”

 

“I’m not,” Tarn said, and Haven grimaced at the pain in his spark.

 

“I’m the doctor, and I say you are,” he snapped, hooking in the last wire, and welding back on the square of plating. “There. You can go.”

 

Tarn sat up, and chuckled, grasping Haven by the chin. “Soon,” he murmured, shaking Haven’s chin back and forth. “We only have a couple of traitors left before we get to you,” he said, softly. “Don’t go anywhere, hm? I estimate it’ll take a year if I’m being generous. You’d best get your affairs in order, Haven of Helex. For the second time.” Tarn’s claws slipped away and he patted the doctor’s cheek. “A shame you had to defect.”

 

Haven swallowed once and gestured to the door. “Get out of my clinic. You said you wanted it to be done quickly and it was -- so get moving.”

 

Tarn did, chuckling as he passed the medic. Haven watched him go, not allowing himself to take the deep breath he so desperately needed until several seconds after Tarn had left. After he was sure the tank was gone, he sagged, right into a chair until he could catch his vents.

  
  


\------------------------------------

  
  


Campe hummed along as she drew the bow across the cyberbass’ strings, closing her eyes as her tail swished gently around her ankles. She could practically feel each note reverberating throughout her body, a soft, distilled drop of sound flickering throughout her consciousness. Reaching the ending strains of the song, she finally trailed off, and took the bow away from the instrument.

 

Clapping sounded from the other room -- her conjunx Whirlygig of Bebb poked her head in, beaming behind her polka-dotted face mask. On her helm, two braided cables on either side were swirled into buns. The lower cable on both sides was slightly smaller. “That was good, sweetie!” the minibot gushed, coming into the living room. “I always love it when you play that song.”

 

Campe smiled and leaned down for a kiss as Whirlygig approached. The dragonformer hummed softly. “Is it? I-” She was interrupted by the living room comms suite ringing. Sighing, she looked at the caller ID, and frowned. “High command? Hm.”

 

“Oh dear,” Whirlygig said softly. “You should take that. Say yes.”

 

Campe picked up the phone. “Campe and Whirlygig’s residence.”

 

“Campe, it’s good to hear from you,” a gruff voice rang out. “Listen, I know you’re in retirement from this whole prison business-” Campe sighed, already feeling tired, “-but we might need you again. There’s been an incident.”

 

Campe lifted an eye ridge and her sensory crest fluttered. Her wings rearranged themselves with an exasperated shuffle. “An incident?”

 

“Yes, quite. Do you remember Thinstreak of Vos? Snobby, high-class Vosian, you know? Well, he’s gotten arrested for abuse of power and a hell of a lot of other things and he’s been ousted from Garrus-10. Could you come in and function as an interim warden?”

 

“I don’t really do that kind of thing anymore,” Campe said, until Whirlygig tapped her knee and hissed “say yes!” The dragonformer sighed harder, trusting her conjunx. “But… I’ll see what I can do. When do I need to come?”

 

“As soon as you can.”

  
  


\-------------------------------------

  
  


Gadget was brought into the warden’s office for the umpteenmillionth time, sitting in Her Chair across from the desk. The new interim warden glanced up from her paperwork. “Gadget of Carthex?”

 

Gadget nodded, tense. The new warden put her stylus down. “I’m Campe of Kaon. You were the one that… brought Thinstreak’s corruption to light, were you not?”

 

Tersely, the empurata nodded, claws twitching. “WHAT ABOUT IT?”

 

“Nothing,” Campe said, “I just wanted to thank you for doing a service. He and I have starkly different views on how to run an institution such as this. As such, there are going to be some big changes around here -- and I’m starting by mandating therapy for you.”

 

Gadget was taken aback. “T-THERAPY?”

 

“Yes,” Campe said, writing something down. “I’ve read your file. Your behavior has spiralled dramatically -- though with your circumstances I can’t say that I blame you. However, it’s still gotten exponentially more violent in recent centuries, so I am mandating weekly therapy.”

 

“I… DIDN’T KNOW THIS PLACE HAD STUFF LIKE THAT,” Gadget confessed, a little thrown off her game. Ever since she’d overthrown Thinstreak, she walked the halls like god. People moved out of her way, whispered about her as she passed. Nobody, and Gadget meant nobody, ever bothered her, or challenged her. Even guards gave her a relatively wide berth. It was more intoxicating than the drugs. She had infinite recesses of power, like mythical chalices of old that never ran dry no matter how much one drank from them.

 

“Until recently, it didn’t. Thinstreak didn’t see the need for such facilities and  _ unlawfully _ neglected the matter. However, my conjunx is a psychiatrist and she has come in with me to start the program back up.”

 

Gadget nodded, a little dazed. “IS THAT. ALL?”

 

“No.” Campe cleared her throat, put down her pen, and leaned her forearms on the table to better look Gadget in the metaphorical eye. Gadget averted her gaze to Campe’s browline. “This prison’s statistics show that drug abuse is as high as ninety six percent of the population. I can’t have my wards dying from drug overdose in my care. As such, I’m starting another program to try and wean those afflicted off of them. As jubilance is a psychoaffective drug, I think that it would be best for your mental health if we got you off of it as quickly as possible.” Campe cleared her throat again. “Get you some real antidepressants.”

 

Gadget’s finials flattened. “BUT I DON’T WANT TO GO OFF OF JUBILANCE.”

 

“You don’t have that much of a choice in the matter,” Campe said. “Whirlygig will be working with your general practitioner to draw up an attack plan for it. Of course, we’ll take it at your pace -- it is your recovery, after all -- but as someone who has a duty of care towards, you, I can’t in good conscience let you run around gambling with your life every time you stick a needle in.” 

 

“MAYBE THAT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS WHAT I DO WITH MY LIFE,” Gadget snapped, plating rising in anger. Campe simply returned to her paperwork, and Gadget was nearly vibrating out of her seat with tension and anxiety. This goody-goody act had to be fake.

 

“While you are in this prison and under my purview, everything you do with your life is my business,” Campe asserted firmly, but not unkindly. “Now, after this, I want you to go to the clinic and start working up the plan. Trust me, Gadget. You need to get off of these drugs. They  _ will kill you. _ I know you don’t think about that, but they will  _ actually kill you. _ Jubilance consumes more and more brain function until you either can’t get a big enough hit and you die from withdrawal, or you  _ do _ get a big enough hit and you die from overdose. That’s always how it ends, Gadget. There’ve been studies.” The dragonformer sighed, wings shuffling. 

 

The empurata nearly scoffed. “DUTY OF CARE? YOU’RE JOKING.”

 

“I fail to see how that is amusing, Gadget,” Campe said sternly, in what was most likely a no-nonsense voice. Gadget stood up in her chair and tried to loom over the warden, flaring her plating out to make herself look bigger. Campe didn’t react other than adjusting her helm to keep staring at Gadget’s screen and one thumb rubbing over the other with her clasped hands.

 

“PEOPLE LIKE YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT PEOPLE LIKE ME,” Gadget snapped. “THEY NEVER HAVE AND THEY NEVER WILL. PEOPLE LIKE ME END UP IN PLACES LIKE THIS BECAUSE PEOPLE LIKE YOU WANT TO STAND ON THROATS TO GET TO THE TOP. I’M THE ONE WHO STANDS ON THROATS IN HERE.”

 

“Gadget, sit down,” Campe said firmly, and Gadget felt like she’d had her knees cut out from under her. Her plating drooped in momentary confusion and disarray. “Perhaps you shouldn’t read a datapad by its coverscreen when it comes to…  _ people like me, _ as you say. You have no idea who I am. Whatever modicum of power you have in this facility -- overthrowing a warden is no easy feat, I understand -- it stops with me. Now sit. Down.”

 

Gadget sat, a little stunned.

 

“Good. I’ve written down when you’ll see Doctors Whirlygig and Haven and I’ll send the appointment times to you so there’s a record.”

 

“IS. THAT ALL?” Gadget said, still a little shocked and dazed.

 

“Yes, for now,” Campe said, “have one of the guards walk you to the clinic.”

 

Gadget stood, and stalked out, one of the door guards walking her to the clinic where Haven was putzing around. He looked… he looked a lot better, actually. He looked like he had some marginal scrap of hope, however tiny. Gadget had never seen his face like that. He patted a berth. “Come on in and sit down, kid. New warden’s updated me. So, I’ve already got some ideas.”

 

“YEAH, ME TOO,” Gadget said, “IT’S CALLED ‘I DON’T WANT TO GO OFF THIS DRUG.’”

 

Haven chuckled mirthlessly and came to stand by her bedside. “Hardee har har. Seriously, Gadget, it’s time. There are lots of other,  _ less dangerous _ things you can use to medicate. But, let’s wait until Doctor Whirlygig gets here and we can talk about it more. Here. Come on over to the chair.”

 

“WHY?” Gadget asked, doing it. Haven tilted her head down like he’d done to attach and fix her inhibitor plate. His field buzzed with glee for a fraction of a second.

 

“Because,” he touted, “this transformation inhibitor’s coming off. You don’t have to worry about the expansion anymore.” Gadget was stunned into silence as Haven washed and readied his tools. He readied the bolt extractor. “You’ll feel a slight pinch, but it’ll be over by the time you say ouch.” The bolt extractor hissed, and Gadget winced -- but before she’d finished, a bolt rattled in the collection jar. He moved onto the other one. “You’re doing great, sweetie.”

 

The second bolt came out with little fuss and Haven removed the inhibitor plate, turning around and giddily wanging it right into the trash. “There! We won’t have to worry about those anymore.”

 

Gadget sat back up, head turning to look at him. “SO… WE JUST WON’T HAVE INHIBITORS?”

 

“Oh no,” Haven said, “by law, inhibitors are required. But the new warden’s brought in what most other prisons are using, which is a type of collar that disrupts the transformation signal your brain sends to your transformation cog. It’s entirely painless and far more ethical.”

 

Gadget tilted her helm. “OH. YOU SEEM DIFFERENT.”

 

“Relieved, mostly,” Haven confessed, going to rummage around in a drawer. He produced a rubber collar with a large block clipped to it. The block blinked red. The doctor brought it back over, showed it to her, and buckled it around her throat. “Tell me if that’s too tight.”

 

“NO, IT’S FINE.” 

 

The doors to the clinic opened, and a bright mint green and yellow minibot toddled through. Braided cables swung from either side of her helm, reaching all the way down to her hips, and she walked right over to Gadget, extending a hand for a shake. 

 

“How are you, dearie, I’m Doctor Whirlygig,” she said sweetly. “And I see you and Doctor Haven have already been chatting.”

 

“Please, Haven,” the four armed medic said, extending his own top right hand to shake. “I hear ‘Doctor’ enough as it is. So. Gadget, we’re going to try and work up a treatment plan to get you off of these drugs as painlessly as possible, alright?”

 

“BUT WHAT ABOUT WITHDRAWALS?” Gadget asked, floundering. Her finials flattened. The collar felt heavy at her throat, and her helm felt funny without the constantly scraping point of the inhibitor. Haven took a claw in all four of his hands.

 

“There’s medicine you can take to help with that,” he said gently, and tugged at her hand until she got up. His hands moved to gently guide her over to a less medical chair, where he and Whirlygig both drew up chairs of their own. They were in a sort of consulting office, further back in the clinic complex. “We can try a few, see what works best for you. And we’re not going to take away your stash of drugs just yet, we want you to have a safety net in case the medicine isn’t working well enough.”

 

“Basically,” Whirlygig cut in, also gentle, “we want to get you off of jubilance as quickly as we can, but we shouldn’t be going at breakneck speed. In fact, I’d encourage you to use when you need it while we’re getting this off the ground. Going off of this ice cold could really hurt you, and that’s the last thing we want.”

 

Gadget felt herself relax, surrounded by soothing, nurturing energy. She still felt a little anxious, though -- she could tell her field was buzzing with it. “BUT WHAT… I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW THIS IS GOING TO WORK. IS THERE A SCHEDULE?”

 

“Absolutely,” Haven took over. “For you, right now, we don’t really have specifics because we haven’t started, and we’d need to try and see what medicines work for you before we could mark anything down in engraving. But there is a very general timeline with these sorts of things. First off, we’d start a patient addicted to this kind of drug on a withdrawal dampener, which would lessen the pain and suffering of cravings so you wouldn’t have the urge to use as badly. Secondly, after we’ve managed to sufficiently get your cravings under control, providing you’re using less and less, that’s when we’d start you on something to actually make you feel averse to the drug you’re addicted to.”

 

Whirlygig cut back in. “Precisely,” she said, voice light. “A drug like that would work to make you feel very unpleasant if you do end up taking a hit -- but by that point, it’d be best if you were on your withdrawal dampener on a regular schedule so you wouldn’t feel the need to use as much. The second drug is really more about maintaining control than punishing you for using.”

 

“Absolutely,” Haven agreed heartily. “I cannot stress enough, Gadget, we don’t see this as some sort of moral flaw. The aversion drug is more to keep you sober than to punish you. That’s not our goal.”

 

Gadget’s head spun and she wished she could take a hit right now to calm her buzzing nerves. Whirlygig laid a hand on her claw momentarily before pulling away. “Also” she said, “we’d be pairing the pharmacological side of this treatment with rigorous cognitive behavior therapy and talk therapy. That’s where I come in -- I’m going to try and help you come up with some alternative coping mechanisms that you can turn to when you feel bad.”

 

Gadget’s finials flattened, a bit overwhelmed with all of this information. “I. NEED A MINUTE TO PARSE.” 

 

“Of course,” both doctors said, and gave her some space, seeming to chat with one another while away. As far as Gadget could tell, they were talking about food, seemingly delighted when one liked something the other also did. It made her feel a little better -- the fact that they weren’t talking about her when they thought she couldn’t hear.

 

“OKAY,” She called, and both doctors rushed back over to take their seats. Haven took her claw in his hands, just two of them this time.

 

“So,” he said, “absorbed everything?”

 

“YEAH. ARE WE STARTING… TODAY?”

 

“I think that would be best,” Whirlygig said, looking to Haven. He looked at her, and they both nodded in unison before turning back to Gadget. Haven finished what Whirlygig was trying to say.

 

“That’d definitely be best,” he said, “the sooner we can get ahead of this, the better off you’ll be. You only have a thousand years or so left here, Gadget, which means that we’ve got roughly that amount of time to tackle this. You don’t have to worry about setting it all up again when you get back to Tebba -- I can simply forward the plan and the prescriptions to your doctor there -- but I do want us to get a running start with this.”

 

The empurata nodded, and Haven smiled. It made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Good. Now, I need to ask you a few questions so we can decide what to put you on first, alright?” Gadget nodded, and Haven brought out a clipboard from his subspace, staring down at it over his nose for a moment. He got his eyes adjusted, and cleared his throat. “Alright, then. So, just to be clear, you use Blue Moon jubilance?”

 

“YEAH.” 

 

“Have you used any other type of jubilance within the last year?”

 

“NO.”

 

“Alright, excellent. You’re doing great, honey. Have you used any other drug other than jubilance recently?”

 

“NO, I HAVEN’T.” 

 

“Good, good. How much jubilance are you using, currently?”

 

“ABOUT… UH… A WHOLE MEDIUM SYRINGE’S WORTH.”

 

“Can you bring me one of those syringes so I know, the next time you stop by?”

 

“DON’T NEED TO,” Gadget said, and reached into her subspace, producing one of her pre-loaded needles. “I KEEP THESE ON ME IN CASE I GO INTO SOLITARY.” 

 

“Very smart of you,” Haven mumbled, taking it with careful fingers. “Alright, I see… hm…” He scribbled on the clipboard and put the syringe aside. “Good. Do you have any medical allergies that you know of?”

 

“NO.”

 

“Do you drink engex, refined oil, or high-grade of any kind?”

 

“NO.” 

 

“Great,” Haven said, scribbling again. “Well, based on that, and your frame type, I’m going to throw out a recommendation of Cybutonex to start you off. Whirlygig, what do you think?”

 

“I think that’s good,” she agreed, “speedsters tend to react well to that compound.”

 

“Right,” Haven said, and wrote on the clipboard again. “So, we’ll start you off with about… hm… I’d say about 150 milliliters of Cybutonex.”

 

“Two hundred might be better,” Whirlygig said, tilting her helm. “She’s been using for a long time.”

 

“I don’t want to shock her system with it,” Haven countered, and Gadget curiously watched them in their back and forth. It was nice to see Haven feeling better. He didn’t drag as much. “We can always up the dosage if it isn’t enough.”

 

“You’re right,” Whirlygig said, sitting back. Haven went back to the clipboard. 

 

“As for the aversion drug,” he mumbled, “I’d say Nellatrexone. It’s going to make you feel sick and uncomfortable if you try to take a hit.”

 

Gadget squinched in on herself a little. “RIGHT AWAY?”

 

“No, no no,” Haven soothed, and Whirlygig joined him.

 

“That’s only after you get your cravings under control, dearie,” she soothed, “our goal isn’t to hurt you.”

 

Gadget relaxed slightly, claw coming to pick at her paint. Haven scribbled something else down. “In the meantime,” he said, creaky voice sounding a little less dead than normal, “we can put you on a nanite booster -- it won’t affect the Cybutonex. Since your intake structure is different, it’ll have to be liquids. The pills aren’t supposed to be broken up.”

 

He left the room to go to the dispensary, and Gadget aborted a reach for him, a little frantic. He was leaving her alone with this strange new doctor, and Gadget didn’t trust her. Whirlygig caught her attention and attempted to make polite conversation. “So, dear, you’re a research scientist?”

 

“I WAS,” Gadget said, looking for Haven, gaze rooted to the empty doorway. “NOT ANYMORE.”

 

“Gadget, sweetie, this isn’t forever,” Whirlygig said gently, not attempting to curtail Gadget’s nervous search for Haven. It made her feel a tiny bit better. “You’re really almost out of here. Just a thousand years left, and Haven and I are going to try and make it as least traumatic as possible now that Thinstreak is gone.”

 

At the mention of her former warden, Gadget’s finials flattened, and she shied away -- Whirlygig gracefully moved subjects. “So,” she said, “Tell me about yourself, why don’t you?”

 

“I LIKE FROGS,” Gadget said immediately, thinking of ReDouble. A pang hit her, “BECAUSE OF A FRIEND. AND… AND ONE OF MY FAVORITE COLORS IS ORANGE. AND. UM. I’M GOOD AT MATHEMATICS. I LOVE MATHEMATICS, ACTUALLY.”

 

“Oh, do you?” Whirlygig said, sounding quite pleased. She had a mouthplate on over the lower half of her face, and it had polka dots on it. Her plaited braids ended in tiny plugs. “What is it that you love about mathematics?”

 

“WHY DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?” Gadget asked, suddenly suspicious again. She couldn’t allow herself to be complacent in this place -- her rigidity and suspicion was what had kept her alive. Besides, Tarn had outright said “I’ll be seeing you again.” This place was going to go back downhill, and it was going to go back downhill  _ fast. _ Whirlygig twirled a braid in her fingers, idly.

 

“I’m just making conversation,” Whirlygig said, “You’re going to be my patient, so I’d like to go ahead and get to know you.”

 

“Got it,” Haven called, as he walked back in the door with a bottle of some liquid substance. Gadget scratched at her thigh, irritated when the itch didn’t go away. She scratched harder, scraping through paint all the way to the metal below. Finally, when it ebbed slightly, she gave up, and as she moved back up to a sitting position, she remembered how nauseous she apparently was all of a sudden. Haven was still speaking. “So, this is Cybutonex. I’m going to start you on 150 milliliters at nighttime, which is about a capfull’s worth. The cap has measuring guidelines on it for you to be precise. You’d take this when you’d normally be taking a hit. Got it?”

 

“We should give her an antidepressant as well,” Whirlygig suggested, “You know.”

 

“Yes, you’re absolutely right,” Haven said, scribbling something down. He looked back up to Gadget. “Gadget, this is your medical care. What is it that you want from all of this?”

 

Gadget recoiled at the unfamiliar question. “I. UH. I DON’T KNOW.”

 

Haven reached out to pat her hand. “I’m not going to lie, this is going to be tough. Cybutonex is only going to cure your withdrawal symptoms -- it’s not going to replace the brain function that’s been shut down due to jubilance.”

 

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” 

 

Haven and Whirlygig looked at each other. “The way that jubilance works,” Whirlygig said, taking over, “is that it sort of commandeers the centers of your brain module that produce reward chemicals, and other neurotransmitters that keep someone from being depressed. It over-stimulates them, and so the brain shuts down what it thinks it doesn’t need because the jubilance is registering as just another neurotransmitter. As more and more of the drug is needed, more and more neurotransmitters get shut down -- which is why it’s so dangerous and addictive.”

 

“SO… I NEED AN ANTIDEPRESSANT ON TOP OF THESE OTHER MEDICINES? WILL IT… YOU KNOW, INTERFERE? I AM A CHEMIST AFTER ALL.”

 

“To function normally, you probably are going to need a pretty strong antidepressant,” Haven said, seeming to droop a little. “Something like Lexaproofine. I’d stay away from Deltabufin. It tends to make speedsters just feel over-stimulated and anxious. So, I’m going to put you on 200 milliliters of Lexaproofine along with the Cybutonex. We’ll start out at about half that, but we want to try and work up to the 200 milliliters. You’ll take 100 milliliters in the morning and 100 at night for a week, and when you feel comfortable, we’ll start giving you all 200 in the nighttime.”

 

“GOT IT.” 

 

“So.” Haven passed her the bottle of Cybutonex. “Take that, and I’ll go get the Lexaproofine. Then I’ll write down the medication schedule for you. I’m also going to grab you an over-the-counter nanite booster.”

 

He got up to leave for the second time, and Gadget stared down at the label, alight with trepidation. Blue Moon was how she slept at night -- how could she go off of it?

  
  


\---------------------------

  
  


The creature whuffled at the crack where the door met the floor, shoving its nose close to take deep sniffs. When it huffed out an exhale, dust flew up before settling again. It hated how this place smelled. It stunk of cleaning chemicals and sterile places. Grumbling, it slunk back to its tiny bed and laid down, plating rattling. It glanced over without moving its head when the door opened. The Scientist stood in the doorway.

 

“It’s time to go out,” he said, and the creature picked its head up, rumbling. “Yes, it is. Do you want to go outside? Hm? Dumb brute,” he crooned. The creature caught the words “go” and “out” and chuffed, rising onto fours and then twos. It allowed the Scientist to walk it to a pair of bay doors that started to go up. An annoying tone screeched in the background and the creature snorted, shaking its head. 

 

“You ready?” the Scientist said, and the creature just blasted hot air from its nostrils, impatient. It hardly ever got to go outside aside from hunting. When the doors opened enough it didn’t wait for the Scientist to yell “go,” it just roared and blundered its way out of the doors and into the brush, huffing and snorting as it crashed blindly through the undergrowth. The night air felt good on its plating and there were so many smells it hardly ever got to smell. When it finally slowed to a halt, it looked up at the sky and sat down, shaking the ground with its heavy plop. Something flew overhead, something big, and the creature howled at it. It didn’t stop and instead flew to where the creature had come from, stalling just long enough to send a smaller thing out to land on the helipad. The creature didn’t see what happened after that, but as it started sniffing around for something to chase, it did hear screaming. Its head perked up and it sniffed the air. Energon scent floated down the mountain. The creature growled and took off, claws raking into the dirt as it clambered back up to investigate. By the time it got there, the smaller thing on the helipad was flying away, and soon the big thing blotting out the stars pulled away as well and disappeared, leaving the creature with an eerily quiet, dark home and the stink of spilled energon and fear. Whuffling the ground once more, it followed its own trail back to the bay doors and waited patiently to be let in. An hour passed, then two. Finally, it got impatient, and started scratching at the doors. It scratched for a little while. No answer. Finally, it growled, and sank its claws into the metal, shoulders straining to pry the doors open. They crumpled like bones beneath the creature’s powerful claws and it wrestled its way in. The facility was totally dark, and a streak of energon caught the creature’s attention on the wall outside of the dock room. It went to investigate further, snuffling, and followed more energon trails until it got to the main lab room, its forging-place. The smell of energon was nearly overwhelming. As the creature looked towards the west wall, it saw the source of all the smell. The Scientist was suspended on the wall with markings in his energon next to him. In its limited processing power and memory of the Before, the creature registered the letters “T R A I T O R” swirled upon the wall. It walked over and nudged the Scientist’s foot, moaning a gentle mooing call. No answer. His eyes were dull and unlit, his mouth hanging open.

 

It sat by him overnight waiting for him to move. When he didn’t, and hunger gnawed at its tanks, it went in search of food, finding bodies littered down the hallway. It found where they got the food from and broke in, eating until it was full and then falling asleep with a full belly on the floor. As the days passed, it steadily ate and slept its way through the storage until there was no more food to eat. It went a few days until the hunger became too much and it started to drain the bodies littering the halls. It ended with ripping the Scientist’s body off of the wall to drain it, and the last food it could find in the facility was the energon splattered over the walls and floor.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so what do you all think?


	26. Elisions of a More Metaphysical Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whirlygig and Campe deal with the DJD making their visit to the prison. The Decepticons officially get to Earth, where Flux is separated in a serious crash that leaves her stranded for a little over a month. However, she soon finds out she isn't alone. She meets someone new, and as it turns out, the two of them are exactly what each other needs.
> 
> And finally, Gadget is free from prison to return to Tebba Base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible trigger warnings:**
> 
> **\- mentions of abuse starting with "West McLambert ran from his house..." and ending with "A cargo plane and a sleek jet touched down..." the section also includes one brief mention of transphobia.**
> 
> **(in the next section West also explains what Nazis are to Flux, but it's brief. If you don't want to read about that, I'd skip starting from the line "what did you punch someone for?" and tune back in at the line "West seemed to breathe a huge sigh, smiling as he relaxed again.")**
> 
> **\- mentions of drug use throughout the sections with Gadget, although she is currently sober it brings up some past mentions.**
> 
> **TL;DR for those who skip!**

Whirlygig sat on the couch in the warden’s suite, hands grasping her helm as she concentrated intensely. Her outlier ability had guided them to this point -- to take the jobs at Garrus-10. This was the best possible future for them; the path to go that left them in the best place after the war was going to be over. She hadn’t seen specifics, but she’d seen the end result when the dust had settled. And it was going to settle, soon, if the future that Whirlygig had foreseen was the most likely. She’d learned to filter them and comb through them in her time at Shockwave’s Academy. 

 

All of a sudden, an image cropped up before her eyes, and she looked around, trying to figure out where she was. She stepped out of the image and walked around, taking in the doors to some kind of ship bridge. She turned, and gasped. She was aboard the Peaceful Tyranny -- and judging by the image on their navigation screen, they were headed directly for Garrus-10. She walked forwards, ducking under Tesaurus’ leg. His knee clipped through her, and she turned to survey the members of the crew. The bridge doors opened, and a big, purple and black tank walked through. Whirlygig’s spark was crushed, and she drooped, plating sagging. “Oh, Damus,” she murmured, sparkbroken. She’d always known this was one of his possible futures, but she’d always hoped he’d managed to stumble upon one of his other ones -- his better ones. He had been so naive and kind. “I’m sorry.”

 

She had to warn Campe. Sure, Garrus-10 was near Messatine, but there was no way for them to know that the DJD had been interacting so closely!

 

“Two days out, sir,” Kaon said, and Damus peered over his shoulder at the monitor.

 

“Excellent,” he said, “Let’s give whoever they put in charge a particularly warm welcome.”

 

Whirlygig closed her eyes so tightly they hurt and re-opened them, back in the warden’s office. Momentarily confused -- what day was it? What time was it? She floundered, shakily getting up before running over to the warden’s office door and opening it. Campe looked up from her paperwork. “Are you alright, sweetspark?”

 

“The DJD is coming,” Whirlygig said, huffing. “Damus, he’s --”

 

She fought dizziness, and something scuttled in her peripheral vision. One unpleasant side effect of her outlier ability -- clairvoyance -- was a case of schizophrenia and the psychoses that accompanied it. “He’s on his way,” she murmured, hand coming to hold her head. Campe got up with no small degree of urgency. 

 

“When?”

 

“I don’t know but my vision, in my vision he mentioned they were two days out,” Whirlygig moaned. “Check the last warden’s itinerary, they’ve been here before.”

 

Campe hurried back to her computer, dragging Whirlygig to sit in her lap for comfort. They perused the system, pulling up Thinstreak of Vos’s old itinerary, and Campe frowned. “That’s odd,” she murmured. “There’s an unspecified absence here, twice in a year.”

 

“That’s probably when they come,” Whirlygig said tiredly, leaning her helm against her much larger conjunx. Then, she grew more serious. “Campe, if the pattern follows, the next visit is three days from now. They’ll have already left to get here. They’ll reach the two-day mark tomorrow.”

 

“Then we’d better prepare ourselves,” Campe said, petting Whirlygig’s helm softly. Her delicate claws scritched at the back of Whirlygig’s neck. “Did you see anything else?”

 

“No,” The psychiatrist said, “But I’m going to try and look forwards again.”

 

“Don’t overexert yourself,” Campe said, and Whirlygig jumped down from her lap. 

 

“I know,” she said, “But I’ll take worsening hallucinations and confusion if it means that we’re prepared for the DJD when they get here.” She walked back through the door and gently closed it behind herself, going back to the couch to lay down. She shut her eyes again, and furrowed her brow, concentrating. When she opened her eyes, images played above her like movies. She hummed in thought, brow knitting together as she evaluated. Which one was the most likely?

 

Finally, she found the right one and dove in, looking around. The details were hazy, the situation not developed enough to be concrete. She was in the warden’s office, and Campe was behind the desk. Damus sat across from her.

 

“So,” he said, “here’s how this is going to go, Campe of Kaon. You have certain prisoners that come through your doors. These certain prisoners are of a certain… interest to us.”

 

“And you want me to hand them over,” Campe said flatly, tail waving in that special Angry way of hers. Whirlygig worried her fingers together, twiddling them. “Is that correct?”

 

“Indeed it is.”

 

“Hm,” Campe said, looking down to her desk to rearrange datapads. “I see. I’m afraid I have to respectfully decline.”

 

The scene froze, and and fuzzed at the edges, blurring into two. Whirlygig looked between them, evaluating their likelihood. The one on the left was bloody, with Damus asserting his will over Campe’s protests, and the one on the right was Campe, in an unfamiliar study, playing music. Whirlygig tried to step into it -- these two were equally as likely to happen, which meant the situation was delicate -- but she was blocked. There wasn’t enough information. Whirlygig had to use what was in front of her to inform their plan of action. She studied the option on the right, puzzling as to what it could mean. The study was rich and baroque, the rug beneath Campe woven with a very particular shade of Decepticon purple. The notes the dragonformer was playing tinnily came into being, cresting so softly that Whirlygig had to strain to hear them. The refrain was part of a larger suite, if Whirlygig had to guess -- and it was so familiar. She had heard Campe play it many a time.

 

She nearly shouted when it came to her. Of course! Campe was playing a movement from the Empyrean Suite! That must be what the vision was trying to tell her -- Damus had always loved music. He wouldn’t be able to resist a concertist like Campe, especially not when she’d been in the symphony that had recorded the infamous rendition he played at his slaughters. He might even decide to… quietly delay business matters to do so. Whirlygig had to tell Campe.

 

The scene caved beneath her pressing hands, allowing her to stumble in. The air was warm, and she turned to see Damus leaned back in his desk chair, head tilted towards the ceiling as he hummed along softly, seemingly in bliss. Campe was wholly absorbed in her music, bow sweeping dramatically on the strings as she played to the softly accompanying background track. As the track faded, she finished, trailing away and gently removing the bow from the strings. 

 

Damus leaned back up, softly clapping a few times before nodding. “How wonderful to hear you play again, Campe of Kaon. It’s such a shame that the Senate attempted to crush your talents. Nay, your  _ gifts.” _

 

“They did,” Campe said, voice matter-of-fact but not rude. “Was there anything else you wanted to hear?”

 

“No, not for the moment,” Damus said, waving the notion aside. His purple mask glinted in the light as he poured a drink in two glasses. “Drink?”

 

Campe set the cyberbass aside, coming to accept the drink. “Thank you.”

 

“I kept all of your records, you know,” Damus said, thoughtfully as he stared into his drink. “Aside from the Empyrean Suite, I've managed to collect your recordings from your soloist concert venues as well. Unfortunately, there’s not many of them left in circulation. They were all smashed. Terrible, isn’t it?”

 

Campe’s jaw tightened, and Whirlygig winced. That had always been a sore spot for her wife. “It’s something that sands my paint, not to be too crass,” she said, voice even as per usual. She was always so austere and controlled. “I… regret many things.”

 

“Of course, it’s not your fault the Senate sought to crush your aspirations,” Damus said, seemingly deep in thought. He traced the rim of his glass as it sat on his desk in front of him. “They did that to many of us.”

 

Campe sipped her glass and said nothing, looking away. Her long, angular face reflected the low light, her thin lips pursing. Damus deemed it fit to keep going, at this point lost in pensive reflection. “Megatron will cure the universe,” he said, quietly. “As he writes in Towards Peace-”

 

“My weapon is my burden,” Campe quoted, cutting him off. “A reminder of the path that I was forced to take.”

 

“You know the passage,” Damus gushed warmly, beaming behind his mask. Campe nodded, taking another sip, and the huge purple tank sat up a little, excited now. “When the word ‘weapon’ is emptied of meaning,” he started, looking for a reaction in Campe’s face, “When the purpose of a weapon is impossible to grasp, when the rejection of my weapon is of significance to no one but me, only then shall I remove it from my arm.” He waited, breaths hushed, and brought his glass to the slit in his mask to drink. Campe was quiet for a few moments.

 

“Because only then will I have earned myself the right to rid myself of that burden,” she finished, eyes staring into the hearth of glowing heat bars. They pulsed, softly. “It’s a poignant statement.”

 

“I cannot tell you how lovely it is to have a -- contact, shall we say? A contact who appreciates the nuances of Lord Megatron’s work,” he said, seemingly gleeful, and Whirlygig drooped.

 

“Oh, Damus,” she murmured softly, hurting for him. The DJD was responsible for so many horrific things -- but the most that she could muster towards him was pity, disappointment, and dismay. “I’m sorry that you ended up here.” He had gotten sucked in with the force of a black hole. He was in so deep, he didn’t see anything wrong with his actions and in fact saw everything right with them. She was so distracted she almost forgot she was in a vision. When it came back to the forefront of her mind, she shook her helm and turned away, closing her eyes and attempting to ground herself.

 

She opened her eyes back on a couch, and sat up, dizzy and more than a little confused and scared. Where was she? This wasn’t her and Campe’s apartment. She got up, and looked around, blinking. It was an entirely alien landscape to her. Something skittered across the floor in the kitchen, its little tapping feet scurrying all over the place. Whirlygig cringed and crept to investigate, peeking around the corner.

 

A massive Insecticon was rifling around in the cabinets, multiple legs scraping against the kitchen floor. It turned to look at her and she screamed, legs working to propel her backwards so quickly that she tripped and landed on her skidplate, still scooting backwards. The door to the warden’s office was thrown open and Campe strode in, coming over to crouch by Whirlygig. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

 

Whirlygig pointed to the kitchen, spark pounding in her ears as tears leaked from her eyes. “I-I-Insecticon!”

 

“Listen, sweetspark, listen to me,” Campe said, urgently and lowly, “There’s nothing there. Look, look.” she brought out a datapad and pulled up the camera, showing her the screen. Whirlygig calmed long enough to look through the screen. Campe was right -- nothing was there. Immediately, the scuttling and clicking noises vanished.

 

Whirlygig sagged, falling back to lay on the floor and groan. She always felt so stupid after she believed her hallucinations. She was a psychiatrist, for Primus’s sake! She had all of these tools that she knew how to use at her disposal and sometimes she just panicked. She constantly had to remind herself that just because she knew the tools of the trade, it didn’t mean that her psychosis wouldn’t still affect her. “Ugh…”

 

“Are you alright?” Campe asked, petting her helm. She put the datapad away, and scooped Whirlygig up, taking them over to the couch. “Do you need anything?”

 

“Yeah, some cuddles,” Whirlygig mumbled, and snuggled into her conjunx. “But I have good news about our DJD situation.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“There’s a possible future in which Damus is going to invite you to play music for him, likely as a replacement to exchanging prisoners,” Whirlygig said, calmed by the gentle petting of her helm. “To activate it, I think you need to remind him that you were a concertist. Have your cyberbass behind your desk in your office, be playing music when he walks in.”

 

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Campe said, “Whatever helps. Is that all you saw?”

 

“Pretty much,” Whirlygig mumbled, “he takes you to a study to put on a solo concert and you two talk. If you can get him addicted to the music, that’s all he’ll want to hound you for.”

 

“Excellent idea,” Campe murmured. “I’ll set it up tonight.”

 

“Mhm,” Whirlygig sighed, finding herself exhausted from her efforts today, already dozing off. She needed to take her afternoon medicine -- tried to stir herself to get up, but she couldn’t. “Meds… I need --” she yawned. “Medicine…”

 

“I’ll get it,” Campe said, and set Whirlygig aside to go get her medicine.

  
  


\----------------------------------

  
  


Two days later, Campe nervously drew the bow across the strings of her cyberbass, its stand behind her chair in the office. She closed her eyes and tried to let the music distract her, but it was to little avail. When there was a knock on her front office door, she sighed, and trailed away. “Yes?”

 

“Visitor for you, Ma’am,” A guard said, very nervously. Campe cleared her throat and gave herself a moment to breathe. 

 

“I’ll be there presently,” she called back, and hefted the cyberbass, putting it back on its stand and the bow on its own stand. Then, she took another deep breath, and went to open the door. Behind the terrified guard stood Tarn in all of his terrible might.  “You can go, Wingspan.” Gratefully, Wingspan scurried off, and Campe stood aside to let Tarn in. “Well, don’t stand on my doorstep like some kind of wanderer.”

 

Tarn brushed by her and took a seat on the right, facing her desk. His eyes wandered to the cyberbass behind Campe’s desk as she went to go sit down. “Now, what could the leader of the Decepticon Justice Division want with me?”

 

Tarn seemed distracted. “You still play?”

 

“Hm?” Campe glanced back to her instrument. “Oh. Yes, I went into a sort of retirement to continue music. Now-”

 

“That’s so pleasing to hear,” Tarn cut her off, chin resting in her hand. “I always thought you had such a talent, from what of your records I’ve heard.”

 

“Thank you,” Campe accepted graciously. “I assume you had something more important than music to talk about?”

 

“Yes,” Tarn said, still seeming distracted. “I am used to the warden of this prison and I having a certain… understanding. So,” he said, “here’s how this is going to go, Campe of Kaon. You have certain prisoners that come through your doors. These certain prisoners are of a certain… interest to us.”

 

“And you want me to hand them over,” Campe said flatly, tail waving. “Is that correct?”

 

“Indeed it is.”

 

“Hm,” Campe said, looking down to her desk to rearrange datapads. “I see. I’m afraid I have to respectfully decline.”

 

Tarn paused for half a second, as if he couldn’t believe that someone had had the audacity to refuse. “Is that wise?”

 

“Perhaps not,” Campe said, examining her claws. “But are you really going to kill the musician who played a key solo on cyberbass in the Empyrean Suite?”

 

Tarn was silent for a long, long moment. He cleared his throat, shifted in his chair, and looked away. “Hm.” He seemed genuinely torn. “Hm.” Out of context, the genuine discomfort on his face, even behind his mask, would have been near hysterically hilarious. “I… hm.”

 

Campe raised a brow ridge, waiting for his response. He seemed to come to a very painful conclusion. “Well, one can appreciate the finer things in life, providing that they don’t cloud what’s important,” he murmured, seemingly to himself. “And I suppose we can just wait until their release…” He cleared his throat again. “I’m willing to propose a compromise.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“If you would be so kind as to play music for me, then perhaps I can look over certain indiscretions.”

 

“Really? I’m listening.”

 

“Twice a year,” Tarn said, “same schedule.”

 

Campe frowned thoughtfully and let him squirm for a couple of seconds. “Hm,” she said, “I agree to this.”

 

“Good,” Tarn said, recovering, “good. Shall we start today?”

 

Campe nodded, and got up, grabbing her cyberbass and bow and sitting back down. “What would you like to hear?”

 

“Empyrean Suite,” Tarn said immediately, leaning back in his chair. Campe put the bow to the strings.

  
  


\--------------------------------------

  
  


Flux surveyed the screen, Megatron sighing heavy to her left. She had temporarily docked at the Nemesis for an extended campaign at Megatron’s request. He was headed for the planet Earth -- a planet with a very new intelligent population. Flux dreaded every micron closer, knowing that there was the very real danger of this bright new population being snuffed out. This war had dragged on and on, and in about a decade’s time they’d be coming up on the four million year mark. How much longer could this possibly go on?

 

“Major General,” Megatron said, eyes still rooted to the screen, “I want you going ahead. Use your vanguards as scouts, and set up transportation routes in anticipation of the main army’s arrival.”

 

“Today, my liege?” Flux asked, a little chilly about it. Their relationship had almost entirely dissolved. Flux was mostly just disappointed -- in him, in the army. They had lost sight of their Cause in favor of a cause that made them feel superior. It was utterly disheartening. Flux honestly wasn’t sure what to do -- following Megatron’s orders wasn’t right, but how could she mitigate his damage without being removed herself? It was a fine wire.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Very well. I’ll round up the others and comm you when we take off for Earth.” Flux sighed heavily, uncrossing her arms and starting to walk off the bridge. Megatron cleared his throat.

 

“Are we going to talk about this?” he said, gesturing to the air between them. Flux huffed out a massive gust through her vents, and looked to the ceiling.

 

“Talk about what?” she said, and walked out.

  
  


\----------------------------------

  
  


West McLambert ran from his house, slamming the back screen door behind him as his father screamed. Steadily, as little feet pounded against the ground, Clement McLambert’s braying voice faded into the misty air. The young boy huffed and puffed as he ran, into the woods and away from his horrible house. He hated living there. He could never do anything right, and when his dad was mad -- which was  _ all _ the time -- he would hit West.

 

The kid had a place to go in times like these -- he’d pack a bag and just run out to the back woods and fields, away to the abandoned barn he’d spend the night in. He brushed through undergrowth and into the huge clearing where the barn stood, brushing himself off as he stood back up. He looked ahead, and his jaw dropped. The barn had been absolutely levelled, the concrete pad hidden beneath a pile of rubble and -- was that a robot? He started booking it, running up to investigate, heart pounding with excitement. It was a robot! It was huge, at least 45 feet tall, with massive wings. One of the jet turbines on its wings was smoking, black smog pouring out of it steadily. He could stand in its hand and have plenty of space left over. It was  _ huge! _

 

West crawled up its arm, coming to investigate its face. Was it… was it dead? He didn’t know. He knocked on its cheek and was surprised to find that the metal was soft, with give that moved back into place like West’s own cheek. The metal was warm -- West laid his hand on it again, eyes wide with wonder. The rest of its plating was hard, ringing hollowly when West knocked and thunking solidly in other places.

 

“Hello?” West called, a bit hesitant. He felt stupid -- obviously this robot wasn’t alive, right? That’d be ridiculous. People would know if giant robots were walking around. West sat back on its chest, and sighed, looking up at the sky. The sun was setting fast, and he didn’t really have anything to do now that the barn was destroyed. Usually he would have played hide and seek with himself in the hay bales, but they were scattered all over the field like carnage and offal. 

 

He decided to go ahead and get some sleep while he could, so he curled up in the robot's giant hand, unpacking the blanket he'd brought. It was surprisingly comfy, and West drifted off feeling safer than he had in a long time. He couldn’t explain it -- it felt like someone was watching over him.

  
  


\----------------------------

  
  


The last thing Flux remembered was falling, transforming out of her altmode to land amidst an old, decaying building and slide before falling to rest. Everything went black after that, and she fell into a hazy dream-world of pain and stillness. Halfway through she remembered jerking almost-awake, and there was a scream. 

 

When she awoke a second time, it was to something climbing up her face. She held very still, and cracked open her eyes. They illuminated the face of a very small organic with a little backpack on. The yellow glow of her optics reflected on their cheeks and in their eyes, and under their chin like buttercups. Their mousy brown hair was wavy and cut short.

 

Cautiously, feet braced on Flux’s chinpiece and hands on either side of her face for support, the organic leaned forwards, squinting. Because they were so tiny, they had to pick an optic to lean close to. They had a dark purple splotch blooming under one eye, almost as if it had been slung there to rest.

 

“Are you…” they whispered, voice hushed, “an alien?”

 

Flux couldn’t understand the language this tiny thing was speaking, so she groaned in pain for a response. She took her mind off of her agonized frame by searching comparable lexicons -- she found one titled “Earth -- North American, Midwestern" and downloaded it.  The words felt funny in her mouth as she spoke them, but they were so wonderfully different from Neocybex: “Where am I?”

 

The tiny thing smiled -- beamed, more like. “You’re on Earth! My name’s West! You’re in Statsin, Iowa right now. So are you really an alien?”

 

“I’m a Cybertronian,” Flux humored, looking up the lifeforms of Iowa. Humans seemed to be the only advanced civilization on this planet -- but West looked a lot smaller than the average. Almost like a newframe. “From the planet Cybertron.”

 

West gaped. “So am I the first human being you’ve met?”

 

Flux thought back to her supposed-to-be greater mission -- to aid in the destruction of this organic race, as she stared into West’s bright gray eyes. She decided then and there that she would gladly face down the entire Decepticon Justice Division for this newframe. “I… yes.”

 

She shifted, and winced in pain, baring her teeth as her eyes squeezed shut. West cried out. “You’re hurt!”

 

Flux ran a diagnostic. She’d be out of commission for a month at least -- no homing system, signal beacon or navigation system. A rust infection had sprung up in a cut on her left thumb, and she tried to keep very calm. She had the basic medical supplies, but she wasn’t sure if they had been ruined in the crash. She wheezed. “Yes. I’ll be alright, my systems can repair themselves.” 

 

She unsubspaced her medical kit and wilted. It had been tossed around, and when she weakly opened it with one hand, her rust infection solution had cracked open and spilled. West climbed down to stand on her chest and peer at it. “What’s that?”

 

“My hand has a rust infection,” Flux managed, trying not to panic. Everyone knew the dangers of being stranded with an unmanaged rust infection. “And my medicine is… well, broken.”

 

“Uhh,” West turned to root around in his little bag, producing a can of something. It looked like an aerosol. “I’ve got some Rust-Eze and a sponge? I saw your thumb was rusty but I wasn't sure if you were uh -- alive.”

 

Flux blinked in shock. “I -- um, we can try it.”

 

West smiled and instantly clambered down to her hand, standing in the palm to get to her thumb. “So what's your name?”

 

“Flux of Lower Crestover,” she answered, as West struggled to pop the cap off of the can. “How old are you, West?”

 

“I’ll be nine this December,” West answered nonchalantly, and Flux’s eyes almost bugged. 

 

“Nine… hundred?”

 

“No, silly!” West laughed, finally getting the cap off. “Nine years old! I'm eight.”

 

Good god, this thing was a protoform! Barely forged! “And you’re out and about?”

 

“Yeah,” West said, suddenly sobering a little as he shook the can vigorously. It rattled wetly. “My parents don't like me very much.”

 

“Parents?”

 

“Yeah, my mom and my dad,” West explained. Flux shook her head bemusedly, quirking an eyebrow.

 

“I’m afraid I don't understand.”

 

“You guys don't have moms and dads?”

 

“No,” Flux answered, and cringed when West sprayed on the solution. He cringed as well, a litany of apologies pouring from his mouth, and Flux did her best to soothe, thanking him for the medical attention. After spraying the stuff on, he began to scrub with a rough sponge. It burned, but the infection was being scrubbed away. “We don't work like that.”

 

“Oh. Well, here, parents make babies. And usually they love their babies, but…” the sponge slowed, and Flux glanced to see him droop a little. He stayed there a moment, like a wilted flower, and then popped back to scrubbing with false cheer. “So how old are you?”

 

“Four point five million,” Flux rattled off, and smiled a little as West’s jaw dropped. “Give or take.”

 

“Holy shit, you’re so old!”

 

Flux laughed. “Hardly! I’m actually kind of young. There are some bots that are, oh, say, twelve million.”

 

“That’s so old I can’t even like,” West dropped the sponge and the can to grasp his head and throw his hands out, making an explosion sound with his mouth. “That’s so old!”

 

“How old do humans live to be?”

 

“A hundred, if you're lucky,” West summed up, picking up his stuff to resume scrubbing, even getting the edges of the cut. “My great grandpa died when he was ninety three.”

 

“That’s so young,” Flux murmured, taken aback. West shrugged. 

 

“Not really. He looked like a dried prune, he was so old. All wrinkly. But anyways, why are you on earth?”

 

Flux froze, swallowing. “My… friends are here,” she explained lamely. West glanced up to beam at her. 

 

“Friends? Can I meet them?”

 

“Oh. Um, I don't think so, sweetspark,” Flux hedged. “Some of them don't… like humans very much.”

 

West’s demeanor changed into something chilling. It was cold, and still. “Do you?”

 

“I’ve only met the one,” Flux covered with a nervous laugh, “But I do, yes.”

 

“Are you gonna hurt me?”

 

“Oh, my goodness no,” Flux soothed, instantly, trying to move before her body protested. She groaned in pain and pushed through it to reassure. “Of course not, little one.”

 

West evaluated for a few more seconds, and then smiled hesitantly. His smile was a little more fragile this time. “Sorry. It’s just -- sometimes, my dad, he-" the newframe glanced at his feet. “Never mind. Can I stay here tonight? I brought a sleeping bag, and some food and water.”

 

Flux nodded, and her systems pinged her with the lack of rust. “Er -- the infection’s gone. Thank you, West. How did you know that would work?”

 

“I didn't,” West said, putting his stuff away. “I saw your thumb was rusty, so I brought it when I came back, and you seemed kind of stressed out about it. What do you eat?”

 

“I have rations,” Flux assured, and West nodded, climbing back up onto her chestplates to lay on his side. Flux found her hand coming up to lay over him, cradling him to her chest protectively. Rust infection addressed, her systems were beginning to demand sleep. The sun was going down, and West watched it go, still. 

 

“What’s your favorite color?”

 

“I don't know,” Flux answered, thoughtfully. “It used to be purple.”

 

“Like that thingy on your chest?”

 

“Yes, like my badge,” Flux mumbled. West hummed thoughtfully.

 

“I like pastels. I like pastel blue, but I still like pastel pink, even if I’m a boy.”

 

“Why should that matter?” Flux answered, a little confused. West shrugged. 

 

“People try and tell me I’m a girl all the time and they try and use my old name. So when I say I like pink, people use it as a gotcha.”

 

“That’s immature,” Flux decreed, “and primitive.”

 

“Do Cybertronians do that?”

 

“My god, no,” Flux said, and spent the next hour explaining Cybertronian gender to the little one. He yawned near the end.

 

“Sounds like a nice place to be,” he murmured, dozing. The sun had since gone down, and Flux stared up at the stars, thinking of her shitty old apartment in Lower Crestover and the good old Decepticon days, when they had a moral leg to stand on. 

 

“Yeah, it was.”

 

“Are you lost?”

 

“I think so,” Flux sighed hopelessly, and West mumbled something that sounded like “you’re warm" before his breathing evened out. She fell asleep to the sound of his gentle inhales and the quiet night creatures of Earth.

 

She woke the next morning with West still asleep. Her internal chronometer, set to Earth’s time as well as Cybertron’s, read “8 AM". The sun was already up, as birds chirped, and Flux hazily thought she could get used to this. The humidity was a bit oppressive today, as storm clouds brewed low. 

 

West shifted in his sleep and mumbled something, snuggling up to Flux’s thumb so he could cuddle it. She stared at him a little, frowning. How could Megatron hate something so innocent, so undeserving? What had Flux become a part of? This wasn't what she’d risen up for.  She'd risen up to protect people like West -- help them, give them a megaphone so their voices could be heard.

 

She thought about killing the boy and her spark hurt. She squeezed her eyes shut as her dentals ground together and her free hand clenched in disgust. If Megatron himself asked her to kill this child, she wouldn't. She didn't join to be a protoform-crusher.

 

West stirred again, blinking blearily, and Flux quickly offered him a gentle smile, petting his hair with one finger from the hand blanketed over him as softly as she could. She overcompensated, and the shaking finger barely grazed his head. He smiled back anyways. “Good morning,” he chirped tiredly, and laid back down. “I can hear your heartbeat. It’s a nice sound.”

 

“That’s my spark,” Flux murmured, overcome with sudden and fierce affection. “It keeps me online.”

 

“Like alive?”

 

“Yes, like alive.”

 

“That’s kind of what human hearts do,” West mumbled back, splaying a hand flush to her chestplating to feel her sparkbeat. “It’s nice to know we’re kind of the same.”

 

“It is nice,” Flux agreed softly, and meant it. Their voices were hushed in the quiet morning light, as West explained that he didn't have to go to school today because it was a Saturday. Flux frowned. “Aren’t your… parents going to be worried if you don't go home?”

 

The cargo plane was selfish. She didn't want him to go home, and said as much when West turned to her with big, gray eyes and asked, shakily, “Do you want me to leave?”

 

“No, of course not… I just don't want you getting in trouble, alright sweetspark?”

 

West nodded, and sat up. Flux’s hand moved a little to allow this, cradling his back. “And… no, my parents aren’t going to be worried. My dad… he um… he hits me when he gets mad, and he’s mad all the time.”

 

West glanced down as Flux’s spark ached at such a plainly stated injustice. The newframe continued, still looking down. “My mom doesn’t care. And they both love this new baby sister they're going to have more than me, and mom isn't even pregnant yet.” At that, he started to cry. “It’s my fault,” he sniffled, crumpling in on himself. “They’ve always hated me and I don't know how to fix it!”

 

“Oh, sweetness, no,” Flux cried out softly, rushing to comfort. Her other hand came up to wipe tears away with a very delicate pinky. It worked -- for the most part. “No, don't ever tell yourself that. That is not your fault. Do you know what that is, West?”

 

“What?”

 

“That’s abuse. They hurt you, and that's not alright, no matter what they say. They’re in the wrong. No matter what they tell you, promise you'll remember that what they do to you isn't your fault?”

 

“You just got here,” West sniffled, “How do you know?”

 

“Trust me,” Flux assured. “We don't have parents on Cybertron, but abuse can happen to anybody. I’m an abuse victim, too.”

 

“You are?”

 

“Mhm. My commanding officer, he’s… um, he’s not very nice to me. He uses our friendship against me to make me feel bad, and he embarrasses me in public a lot to hurt me. And he’s said some really hurtful words to me, too. And sometimes he threatens to kill me.”

 

“Does he ever hit you?”

 

“Just a few times,” Flux replied. “He tried to choke me once.”

 

West’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”

 

“I almost poked his eyes out,” Flux responded with a little smirk, “and he hasn’t tried anything since.”

 

“I should try that on my dad, don’tcha know,” West laughed, and Flux cringed. 

 

“Just do whatever keeps you safe, West, alright? Promise me.”

 

“I promise.”

 

“And promise you’ll remember that what your parents do, and how they act isn't your fault?”

 

“I promise, Flux!”

 

“That’s wonderful,” Flux praised, “I’m really proud of you.”

 

She liked seeing the way his eyes lit up when he smiled, really smiled. The moment passed, and West slid down her chest and jumped off her arm to rummage around in his backpack. “I’ve got breakfast, are you hungry?”

 

Flux pulled a ration out of her subspace. “Yeah, a little.”

 

“How do you do that?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Y’know, just make stuff out of thin air. Is it your alien powers?”

 

Flux laughed. She had to. The question was just too cute. “Uh, not exactly. Cybertronians have control over subspace, which is really just a big dimensional pocket. I keep things in my subspace so I can pull them out when I need them.”

 

“Oh, okay! So what is that, in your hand?”

 

“It’s my fuel.”

 

Flux must’ve spent a month in that old barn, slowly gaining more mobility as her systems healed. A week after she’d woken up, she was sitting up consistently. West was there more often than not, spending nights over and over again. Sometimes, he didn't come back after school, and Flux was left to worry about him, wringing her hands and hoping he was alright. Sometimes he came back with bruises -- sometimes he didn't. When he did, Flux helped him as best she could by gingerly laying a finger or a hand over the bruise and cooling her hands’ temperature via manual override.

 

These humans absorbed things like sponges! Flux was astounded at what West picked up just within a few days. He’d even started asking about what language she spoke, though he mistakenly called it “Cybertronian” at first. A simple, polite correction was all it took -- and from then on out, West was constantly begging her to teach him Neocybex.  She caved almost immediately. Human brains were remarkably complex -- she was a bit shocked to find that he couldn’t simply download a lexicon. (It made sense when she thought about it. West summed it up as “having to go around my elbow to get to my thumb"). 

 

He mentioned that “total immersion" really helped human beings learn languages, and so from that point on, it was decreed by both of them that they were going to speak Neocybex as much as possible.

 

Turns out, he was stellar at it. By the last week, conversations were spoken almost entirely in Neocybex, and West had a small journal he took extensive notes in. He had a hobby of translating things like newspapers and books, and to review these translations, he would read them to Flux for her judgement. She gave him audio files of Megatron’s speeches, held on miniature datapads small enough for him to carry around.

 

He was almost as good as if it was his native tongue, really. There were a few odd hangups from English that he couldn’t seem to shake -- the order of an adjective here, the placement of a verb there. His accent was a bit funny, but that was more the fact that his voicebox couldn’t produce some of the tones rather than lack of trying. And he couldn’t make statics -- but then again, neither could a Carthexian empurata.  With more practice, Flux was sure he’d be an expert. 

 

It was the day she woke up and her navigation systems had come back online that she realized that there was very little time left to practice. The plane looked down at West, who was sleeping in his usual spot on her chest, tucked under her hand. She’d have to tell him.

 

She didn't want to leave.

 

West woke an hour later, yawning and stretching. “Good morning,” he chirped in Neocybex, and Flux answered in kind, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. West noticed instantly, small, round face flashing concern.

 

“What is it?”

 

Flux sighed. Birds sung overhead, in the bright morning light. “My systems are coming back online.”

 

“That’s great!”

 

“It means I have to leave soon,” she said, a lot quieter, tears starting to well. West’s ecstatic little face fell, and he sat up quickly.

 

“What?”

 

She nodded somberly. “People will come looking for me soon, and I have to go with them.”

 

West crumpled in on himself, starting to cry. “But you’re like my mom,” he bawled, and Flux’s spark hurt. “What if I forget you?”

 

“I promise you won’t,” she soothed, doing her best to comfort. “Remember what I told you about amicae endura?”

 

“That they still love each other, even though they can be really far away from each other?” West sniffled, eyes watery. Flux nodded.

 

“Would you like to become my amica, West?”

 

His eyes widened, his jaw going down, and he inhaled shakily. “Really?”

 

“Of course,” Flux murmured, smiling. It was tinged by sadness. “I love you very much. And if we become amicae, we’ll always be able to feel each other,” she led, and placed a finger in the center of his chest, where his spark would be, “here.”

 

When she took her finger away, West stared down at his chest as if she’d really implanted a spark. He looked up and nodded fervently. “Yes, please!”

 

Flux smiled, sat up, and placed West on her knee. She took a deep breath, and her chesplating hissed air, parting aside to first show her spark casing -- a neat, clean piece cut out, just enough to make a badge -- and her spark, pulsing in time with the low beats that accompanied it. It washed West in blue light, sparkling in his awestruck eyes. 

 

He looked up at her face. “It’s so pretty.” He was still speaking Neocybex -- in the corner of her mind, Flux noticed with no small degree of pride in him that the whole conversation had been in Neocybex.

 

“Thank you,” Flux accepted graciously.

 

“Do I need to take my shirt off?”

 

“Not if you don't want to,” Flux made up on the fly. After all, there were hardly any rules for this. And she supposed that the receiving Cybertronian wouldn’t have opened their chest plates either, so it still passed. She cleared her throat, words taking on a heavier weight. They were more measured, ceremonial. “Now, I bid you stand in the glow of my spark, that you may feel the heat of my words and know them to be true.”

 

Enraptured, West nodded slowly, eyes wide and bright with blue light. Flux continued, “I invite you to receive my light and in so doing, become my amica endura -- from now until forever.”

 

“Forever?” West asked, a little in shock, and Flux allowed herself to break the seriousness for a little chuckle. 

 

“Yes, forever. West, you showed me kindness I was not due when you found me. You healed my wounds and offered me friendship. You are a kind, intelligent, empathetic and fun person, and these are the reasons I have chosen you to be my amica. When I came to this planet, I had no concept of what a mother was -- the closest I could compare it to would be a blacksmith. But now, after nearly a month on this planet…”

 

She smiled affectionately. “I would be happy to be your mom.”

 

A week later, she had to leave. She first heard the familiar engine drones when West was sleeping on her chest, as the first hazes of dawn light attempted to peep over the horizon. In his hands, the tiny human held a corner of Flux’s plating that fell off in the crash. She’d allowed him to keep it. As far as she could tell, it hadn’t left his side yet. 

 

A cargo plane and a sleek jet touched down, and Flux perked up a little, achingly relieved to see her units. Just from the transformation sounds she could tell that it was Conure and Carapace.

 

Gently, Flux gathered West up and placed him to the side, covering him with the blanket he’d bought. Conure and Carapace paused mid-step, optics wide at the sight, and Flux hauled herself into a sitting position with a grunt.

 

“Is that an organic?” Conure hissed, delicate little bird legs carrying her over to investigate. Flux put out a hand to stop her from getting too close. 

 

“Shh,” she whispered. “He’s sleeping. It’s good to see you two again.”

 

“You too,” Carapace responded, “But what will Megatron say?”

 

“He doesn’t have to know,” Flux murmured, finally hauling herself up to stand. On the ground beneath her, West stirred under his blanket, disrupted by the lack of a sparkbeat under him. Flux walked forwards and fell into the welcoming arms of her old friends. 

 

“This could land you on The List, you know,” Carapace muttered back. “This was foolish.”

 

“Yeah,” Flux answered, looking back at West, “but it was the right thing to do, don’tcha know. Um… one moment with him, please?”

 

Both Carapace and Conure stepped back with a tiny bow, as Flux moved back over to West with a slight limp. She knelt with a grimace, and leaned down to gently rouse West by shaking him awake. “West, sweetspark?”

 

West stirred with a grumble, blinking up at her blearily. “Wuh?”

 

“I have to leave now, alright? I… I wanted to say goodbye.”

 

West yawned, sitting up and scrubbing at his eyes with balled fists. He had a split lip and a fading black eye, along with bruised marks on one wrist like someone had grabbed him. “You’re going?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve gotta go.”

 

“Will I ever see you again?”

 

Flux hesitated. “I… I don't know. It might not be safe. There are some very bad people on my side who hunt traitors, and they would come after me if they knew about this. But that doesn't matter, okay? I love you very much. Even if we don’t see each other again, remember that okay?”

 

West nodded, raising his tiny fist to his chest in a decepticon salute. With two thumps of her own fist on her chest, she returned the salute, rising to go back to her units. 

 

West stood up. “Be safe! Goodbye!”

 

All three robots waved as they started to walk away, taking Flux to the rendezvous point. Conure leaned in once they were out of earshot. “He was speaking Neocybex! Did you teach him that?”

 

“What can I say,” Flux joked, “he was a model student.”

 

“Megatron will be pissed,” Carapace mumbled, and Flux snorted.

 

“Megatron can suck my spike.”

 

Two muffled “oof"s followed, and Flux fired back that they both knew there wasn’t a point to this madness anymore except prejudice and imperialism. That got her two nods, willfully conceding the point to her.

  
  


\---------------------------------------------

  
  


West went back home that night and crawled in through his window, depression eating at him. He’d probably never get to see his new mom again. She was just so nice he wished he -- he wished he could have gone with her. Her friends seemed nice, too. 

 

He woke up in time for school the next morning and got his own things together, his parents not even saying goodbye to him as he ran out to the schoolbus. It stopped for him with a hiss and whine of brakes, and he immediately ran to sit by his best friend, Ehsan Cartwright. Ehsan was about his age, maybe a little taller and thinner than he was. His proportions were a little awkward, but Ehsan’s dad Wesley had explained that his son was going through a growth spurt.

 

“Hi,” West said cheerfully, and Ehsan immediately hugged him, beaming. The light from the window gleamed off of his olive skin and caught in his eyelashes. 

 

“Hey,” he greeted, patting West’s hair, “how are you?”

 

“Good,” West replied, as the bus started moving again. Pretty soon, it would also pick up their other friends on its route: Rosalind Parker Reed (who just got called Reed), Cordelia Dubois, Rose Smith, and Elijah Archer. They were all in the same class together and were all best of friends. When West didn’t feel like going to the barn, he’d stay over with one of them. “I had… the  _ coolest _ thing happen to me.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“I met a robot!”

  
  


\-------------------------------------

  
  


Eight years later, Flux flew over the sunbaked desert of Arizona, high above the parched sands and twisting rock. She was over a canyon, and the gloomy clouds just above her threatened to storm, rumbling ominously. When the bottom fell out, she swore and landed on the plateau created by the canyon, hastily scaling her way down the cliffside. It was a tall canyon, even compared to her, a deep wound in the landscape. As she walked the path, she noticed it was a short one, that ended in a huge cave mouth. As the canyon bottom was starting to fill up with rushing water, she made a break for shelter, grateful that the cave had a flat, dry surface large enough for her. The water wasn’t clear, but it seemed to be because it was stirred up by rainfall. As she sat down further to the back, she noticed signs of life. Ashes from a fire. Drawings scraped into the wall, with a pointed stone laying by the campfire. They were rudimentary, but the paper drawing pad laid open under it was filled with exquisite drawings. A pile of wood scraps and dried bushes pulled out by the roots lay further back in the cave.

 

Footsteps sounded, but the pouring rain outside obscured the approaching figure. It ran like hell, and broke the rain line of the cave mouth to stand panting in the dry air. They held a plastic rain jacket by the hood over their head, and as they threw it back with their head, sending droplets flying. They had white, chin length wavy hair, brown seeping in at the tips, and pale skin. They had a smattering of freckles across their cheeks and nose.

 

Their gray eyes lit on Flux, and they jumped, seeming to reach instinctively for the weapon on their person. It was an aborted movement. Flux recognized him immediately.

 

“West?”

 

“Flux?” he responded in Neocybex. It was still good, like he had been practicing. His organic accent had all but disappeared. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

“What are you doing here?” Flux countered. “And no swearing!”

 

“First of all, I’m almost eighteen, so I can swear all I like. Second of all, I heard there were Cybertronians out here, so…” West shrugged. “Here I am. I ran away from home a while ago.”

 

Flux ceded the first point to him, and hummed. “You’ve been actively putting yourself at risk? What for?”

 

West spread his arms. “Look at me. My mom is a plane. You think I fit in with other human beings? I, uh… found a few ‘bots, but…”

 

“But what?” Flux prodded gently, and West shed the raincoat, trudging over to sit next to her thigh and lean on her. 

 

“They were dying, or already dead. Um… I’d stay with the ones still hanging on, talk to them. Some were Autobots, some were Decepticons.”

 

Flux’s hand came to cradle West’s back. “I’m sorry. I dragged you into a conflict that shouldn't involve you.”

 

“Nah, I was gonna find trouble anyways,” West said blandly. “Besides, Megatron’s the one at fault.”

 

“So you know?”

 

“Yeah,” West said, “I know.”

 

Flux hummed quietly. All was silent except for the rain for a few moments, and then West spoke up. “I heard a lot about you, don'tcha know. From some of the Cons.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. I’m… not going to lie, the fact that you’re a Con is… bad. But, at the same time, I’m… kind of proud you fought so hard to keep it going all south. Yeah.” He sighed, leaning further into her and closing his eyes. “I missed you.”

 

“I missed you too,” Flux mumbled, touched. “Do you… live here?”

 

“Just for the last day or two. I did live on the streets in the city just a few minutes from here, but I punched a guy. So I’m moving on to the next town. Maybe I’ll end up in San Francisco, City of The Gays.” 

 

“What did you punch someone for?” Flux chided gently, eyebrows knitting together. West shrugged, eyes still closed. He didn't seem very remorseful.

 

“What? The guy was a Nazi. Sue me. He deserved to lose more than a tooth. Someone got it on video. I saw it on the news that night, packed my shit and left.”

 

“A… Nazi?”

 

“Oh, my god, do you not know what a Nazi is?”

 

“No.”

 

“They’re only the worst fascist sons of bitches this side of the Milky Way,” West said, sitting up and opening his eyes. “They killed six million Jewish people and countless others and erased every iota of gay and transgender history they could find in the nineteen forties. Literally I cannot describe to you how awful they are. They advocate for genocide and say white people are a superior race.”

 

Flux cried out in disgust. “I hope you shattered his cheekbone, then!”

 

“Did my damndest,” West said proudly, smugly dusting his shoulders off. “He went down like a fucking wimp. My hand hurt like hell, but it was so worth it.”

 

“Good job,” Flux commended wholeheartedly, nodding with decisive energy. “I’m proud of you.”

 

West seemed to breathe a huge sigh, smiling as he relaxed again. “I haven't heard that since you left.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“No, it’s okay. It worked out in the end, right? How long can you stay this time?”

 

“Until the storm ends. I’m on my way to pick up a shipment.”

 

“You could just,” West shrugged, glancing up at her, “Not.”

 

“Yeah, that’d get me killed,” Flux muttered. “Extremely tempting, though.” Thunder rumbled soothingly outside, followed by a bright flash and a bigger crack of thunder. It made West jump, but he didn’t seem bothered -- almost as if it was muscle memory rather than actually being startled.

 

“Oh, the DJD?” he asked, nonchalantly.

 

“How do you know about the DJD?”

 

“I’ve heard whisperings,” West shrugged. 

 

“The DJD hunt traitorous Decepticons,” Flux said, grimly. “These days, that could mean anything.”

 

“That sucks.”

 

“Yeah, yeah it does.” Flux grimaced. “I should have left. I should have left before it all went sideways.”

 

“You’re in it now,” West said, casually. “Now you’ve just gotta make a choice. There’s always more than one or two.”

 

Flux was quiet, contemplating. “Thank you.”

 

“Sure,” West said. “Counseling parental figures through their issues is like, my personal specialty. But whatever. You’re here right now, and that's what counts. Are you sleeping here tonight?”

 

“May I?”

 

“No, I think I’ll kick you out in the rain and let you get struck by lightning,” West snarked, eyes rolling up to look at her, and Flux rolled her own optics. 

 

“Har har. You're very funny. Thank you for letting me stay.”

 

“Duh,” West said, smiling goofily. “You’re my mom. I love you. Who knows when I’ll get to see you again.”

 

“I’m sorry it has to be like this,” Flux murmured, looking down. West shrugged.

 

“It is what it is,” he said, “there’s not much we can do. I’m glad I ran away because if I hadn’t, I would’ve missed you. How’s my Neocybex?”

 

“Absolutely stunning,” Flux enthused, beaming again. “You’re doing wonderful. You sound like a native.”

 

“Awesome!” West cheered, “I knew all that keg sipping paid off.”

 

Flux laughed out loud, peals of laughter covered up by the deluge of rain and booming of thunder. As violent as the storm seemed -- the flash flood creek pouring into the depths and recesses of the cave as it was contained within its little bank across from them -- it was calming. Flux felt less stressed already. “Indeed it did!”

 

West’s smile faded. “I just… the one thing I regret is that I don’t get to see my friends.”

 

“Oh,” Flux said, sympathetic. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I mean, I keep up with them on Twitter when I can get to a public library, but…” he looked at his hands. “S’not the same.”

 

“No, I imagine not,” Flux murmured, looking outside. She could barely see past the entrance. “So you said you were headed for San Francisco, hm? What were you thinking about doing?”

 

“Hell, I dunno,” West said, “I don’t really have a plan.”

 

“You know there’s more Cybertronians nearby, right?”

 

“There are?” West said, eyes wide as he looked up to her. “Where?”

 

“Team Prime has a base somewhere in this area,” she said, circling her finger up and around. “Not sure where, but if you want to hook up with some human-friendly Cybertronians, they’d be your best bet. Neutrals live in small pockets, usually one or two to a group unit. And they’re very spread out. But Autobots are a military faction, they have to stick together. Besides -- I think you’d really like Team Prime. You seem like you’d get along with Bumblebee.”

 

“Bumblebee?” West laughed, crossing his legs. “C’mon, Flux, I’m just a nobody.”

 

“So was I,” she shrugged, “It doesn’t matter. Besides, you’re a wonderful person. They would be lucky to have you.”

 

“If you say so,” West laughed, and Flux snorted. 

 

“It’d make me feel better,” she countered, “knowing you’d be safer. I know someone nearby, he’s neutral. Since I can’t take you there directly, would you consider hitching a ride with him?”

 

West sighed. “Yeah, yeah.”

 

“Good.” Flux leaned back against the cave wall. “Mind if I call him now?”

 

“Nah,” West said, snuggling down against her and heaving a breath. “S’fine.”

 

Flux put two fingers to her audial. “Vaporwave,” she greeted, “hi. How are you? Good, good. Hey, I’m calling in a solid you owe me. Are you still in Arizona, on Earth? Oh, good. When the storm clears up, can you come to these coordinates and pick up a friend of mine? He’s trying to hook up with Team Prime.” Vaporwave chattered for a minute, and Flux listened solemnly. “Yeah, I know. But we’ll be even, huh? Alright. Thank you so much.”

 

She hung up. “He said he’s coming when the storm clears up. His name’s Vaporwave. He’s the chatty type, so you’re going to get some practice, hm?”

 

No answer. When she looked down, West had fallen asleep.

  
  


\----------------------------------

  
  


West waved Flux off from the mouth of the cavern, watching her scale the canyon wall to get a runway on flat ground. “Bye, mom!” In his right first, he held the dog tags he’d had made out of that scrap of her plating. “Fly safe!”

 

“Thank you,” she called back, “I will! And you be safe too!”

 

West had to smile. He thought he’d never see her again, and yet here they were. Flux had explained that Vaporwave was going to come get him from the mouth of the canyon at approximately noon tomorrow, wait for two hours, and leave if he didn’t show up. West spent the rest of the night poking at the small fire he’d built, and then finally drifting off to sleep, awaking late next morning. Within ten minutes he was packed up and out of the cave, making the trek to the canyon mouth when it wasn’t too hot outside. The rain had cleared a couple of days ago, and it was still a little cool in the air. Finally, he got to the mouth, and sat down with his back to a tall rock, leaning back to rest. He’d almost dozed off again when the sound of an engine roaring came to his attention, and he opened his eyes to see a bright neon car with a faded vaporwave grid pattern screech up, slamming on brakes to stop in front of West, spraying dust everywhere.

 

The boy yelled, coughing and shutting his eyes against the grit, waving a hand. “Dude!” he shouted, in Neocybex, and the car’s engine purred.

 

“Sorry,” someone said, also in Neocybex. “Are you West? West McLambert?”

 

“Of Statsin, yeah,” West said, coughing a little more. “Are you Vaporwave?”

 

“Sure am,” the car said, and popped open the passenger’s side door. “Hop in. We’ve got places to go.”

 

West did, throwing his dusty things in the back seat. The car was blissfully cool, air conditioning already circulating, and West sighed, leaning back into the leather seats as his eyes closed. The door shut, and Vaporwave backed up into a three point turn, speeding off to find open road again. They hopped on, and West sat up, buckling his seat belt.

 

“So, Team Prime, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” West answered, rummaging around in his bag for one of Flux’s speeches. He already missed her calming voice. “I don’t really fit in with other human beings any more. I used to live at a friend’s house, but I didn’t really want to make him have to worry about me all the time.”

 

“So you… _ran away,”_ Vaporwave said wryly, and West smacked the dashboard. “Ow! I don’t have to do this.”

 

“I’m sorry,” West said cheekily, patting where he’d slapped.

 

“Fine. So, how are you going to explain Decepticon Neocybex to a lair full of Autobots, huh? Not to mention the Lower Crestover accent. Prowl’s going to have a field day with you.”

 

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” West shrugged, looking out the window. They turned off of the main road onto a dirt one, and drove far into the desert, until they came up to a huge mesa. West leaned up. “A rock, huh?”

 

“You humans have no imagination,” Vaporwave joked, and slowed down, sending out a ping. He sent out another, and someone answered. 

 

“Vaporwave,” they said crossly, “Don’t just sit out there, you’re brighter than a Constructicon. Come in, I guess. Anyone with you?”

 

“Yeah, actually,” the speedster answered, “An organic.”

 

“No organics!” the person squawked, “you know full well what happened with the Sp-”

 

“-ike Witwicky situation, yeah,” Vaporwave said, as West giggled, “but trust me, this kid’s no Witwicky. He’s probably the furthest thing from Witwicky I’ve seen. Hell, he even knows the language. Fluent.”

 

“...is he there?”

 

“In my passenger’s seat. He doesn’t have a place to stay, Prowl. I found him in a cave. In the desert.”

 

Silence on the other end of the line. “Get in here and we’ll talk.” 

 

Vaporwave revved his engine, and a garage door opened in the side of the rock, leading to a tunnel. Vaporwave drove in, headlights bright, and the door closed behind him. West gathered his bag close, hands squeezing the backpack fabric. They pulled into a main room, where a bunch of Autobots had gathered around to see. Vaporwave stopped, and his door popped open. West stepped out, looking around and up, taking in his surroundings. It was a really neat place. Vaporwave transformed and someone who West could only assume was Prowl’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

 

“What?” Vaporwave said, blue visor bright. “He knows.”

 

A big red and blue truck knelt to speak to West. His voice was impossibly deep. “And what’s your name, young man?”

 

“West McLambert,” West said, and didn’t miss the way murmurs coursed through the ranks. “Of Statsin, Iowa.”

 

“Iowa?” Someone else mentioned softly, frowning. They had a blue visor as well, though his paintjob was much more subdued than Vaporwave’s. “That’s quite a ways away, isn’t it?”

 

“I hitchhiked and took a bus,” West replied.

 

“Why are you speaking in Decepticon Neocybex?” Prowl accused, brow ridge lifting. 

 

“It’s the first thing I learned,” West said, shrugging helplessly. “I was like nine years old.”

 

Several murmurs of “so young!” rippled through the ranks, and even Prowl seemed to back off a bit. 

 

West gave puppy eyes to the red and blue bot in front of him. “Can I stay? I just need a place to stay before I can get myself to San Francisco.”

 

The Autobots all looked at each other, and Vaporwave shuffled impatiently.

 

“I don’t see the harm in giving you a place to stay for now,” the truck said, “My name is Optimus Prime. The yellow beetle is Bumblebee, the racer is Jazz, and the police car is Prowl. Our medic, Ratchet, didn’t come in to see what all the fuss is about, but you’ll meet him if you stick around.”

 

West waved, a little shyly, and hefted his bag. Optimus stood. “We can fix up a room for you. Bee, why don’t you help our guest out?”

 

“Sure thing,” Bumblebee said, and beckoned West along into the snaking depths of the cavern. Vaporwave called out “bye!” to him, and West returned the gesture, waving. 

 

Bee pushed open a closet door, and West looked around. It was an empty closet, but due to the size difference it was large enough to be a bedroom. He walked in, and set his stuff down in the far left corner. “Hey, this is great. Thank you so much for this, ‘Bee.”

 

“Yeah, no problem,” Bumblebee said cheerfully. “Prowl’s a little bit prickly, but it really is nice to have you here. I’ll see if I can dig up a pillow or something, huh? That’ll probably be big enough for you. We have cots here, I think. Go ahead and get settled in.”

 

West started to unpack his things as Bee left, making sure to keep his recordings deep in the bottom of his bag, covered by a spare flannel shirt he had. He didn’t have much -- a beat up laptop he’d gotten before running away (he couldn’t do too much with it unless he had wifi, but it was nice because he could take it to the library or an internet cafe), a couple of extra clothes, his rain jacket, and some water bottles and cans of non-perishables. He set all of his food and water out and started folding up his clothes from where they’d been shoved in the bag. Bee came back with a huge rolled up cot under one arm.

 

“So,” he said, “I got the smallest size we have, but it’s still gonna be pretty big.”

 

“That’s alright,” West said, “is there a place I can shower? I’m…” he gestured to himself. “I’m absolutely gross.”

 

“Oh,” Bee said, chewing on his lower lip as he unrolled the cot. It was indeed huge, but West was more than a little delighted after sleeping on rock. “Uh, maybe? We have solvent washracks, but I think there’s a hose with water in the boiler room.”

 

“It’ll do, if that’s alright,” West said, “I don’t know if humans can handle the chemical solvent.”

 

“Me either,” Bee agreed, “Do you want me to stand in front of the door?”

 

“God, that would be amazing,” West gushed, “Could you?”

 

As it turns out, living with Autobots turned out to be pretty good for West. He got himself cleaned up, got regular meals once his presence had been cleared with the humans Team Prime worked with, and even chipped in around the place to help out.

  
  


\--------------------------------------

  
  


Haven wrote out Gadget’s prescription transfer, sighing softly. Her prison sentence was nearly over -- only two weeks before her release, and she was due for an update and one of her final check-ins. 

 

The doctor was well aware he was living on borrowed time -- he could feel Tarn’s suffocating presence loom taller every day, and while he was grateful that Campe had managed to mollify him with music, he knew that she couldn’t placate him forever. He was just glad that he’d been able to live as long as he did -- his life hadn’t been anything to write home about by any stretch of the imagination, but he liked to think that he had at least devoted his life to healing and had made a positive impact on those he had worked on. He just hoped he would last until the end of Gadget’s sentence -- something so traumatic could devastate her and make her start using again, and she’d made such wonderful progress. Despite the odd bump or stumble here and there, she’d been on a largely sober trend for 700 years. He was immeasurably proud of her.

 

The doors opened, and Gadget herself walked into the main clinic lobby. Haven came out to greet her, smiling, and patted a chair. She sat, quiet.

 

“How are you feeling today?” Haven asked, checking her over. Her paint was looking much, much better, and her biolights had stopped their weak flickering. Her track marks had faded considerably. “Good?”

 

“YEAH.” She was still oddly quiet, even for her. “HAVEN?”

 

“Yes, sweetspark?”

 

“IS IT DUMB OF ME TO MISS YOU? WHEN I’LL BE GONE.”

 

“No,” Haven said, patting her shoulder. “You’ve been through the wringer, kid. I’ll miss you too. Promise me you’ll stay sober when you go?”

 

“I PROMISE.” 

 

Haven felt his old bones settle with relief and he sighed, scanning her. Her systems pinged as clean, and he smiled, turning off the scanner and reaching for her arm to comb through wires at the joints. “Good. Are your medicines still working?”

 

“YEAH. THANKS.”

 

“Something’s wrong,” he said, knowingly. Gadget usually stopped being so quiet when she stopped being bothered. 

 

“IT’S JUST… YOU MUST BE PRETTY FAR DOWN THE LIST IF TARN HASN’T GOTTEN TO YOU YET. DO YOU KNOW WHEN…?”

 

“When he’s going to decide I’m important?” Haven shook his helm. “He said ‘a few years’ a thousand years ago. I’m sure he’s just toying with me, but I have to admit it doesn’t make it… any less frightening. I might actually poison myself this time,” he joked, and Gadget gripped his arm with a claw.

 

“DON’T,” she said, field jittery with crazy. Her field was nearly nauseating for anyone who got in its range -- it moved so quickly and so violently that most gave her space to avoid it. “BECAUSE THEN YOU’LL DIE FOR SURE.” 

 

Haven mumbled “now wouldn’t that be a relief” but not loud enough for Gadget to hear, shrugging a little. “I suppose I could always go into a program,” he said, “But really, what’s the point?”

 

“BECAUSE-” Gadget flapped her claws, looking frustrated as her head shook back and forth. “BECAUSE I LIKE YOU! YOU’RE NICE! YOU HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING WRONG!”

 

“Everyone has to die someday, Gadget,” Haven sighed, and laid a hand on her shoulder. “But thank you. We’ll just… we’ll see how things turn out.”

 

Gadget nodded, and she finished her checkup without a hitch.

  
  


\-------------------------------------

  
  


Gadget walked out of Garrus-10 and onto a shuttle bus back to Tebba a free mech, anxiety blooming at the thought of going back to free life. How… what would she do? She had no idea what was going to happen. Her schedule had been uprooted and disrupted. While her prescriptions had already been forwarded, what would her support system be like? She stood on the shuttle, pacing around, until the driver told her she could sit -- and then she sat immediately, without thinking about it. There were other people aboard the bus too -- all going to different places. Gadget didn’t participate in the chatter as people idly talked to one another, just ready to go back to her base. She would have said home, but Garrus-10 --

 

Was not her home, and she was nearly furious with herself for almost thinking that. She spent the rest of the ride in a sour mood and stared out the window, drawing up her legs close to herself. 

 

Thinstreak’s arrest really had made things better. A preliminary investigation into Chromepoint’s death had been conducted, but they’d let Gadget off the hook, deciding self-defense and battered person’s syndrome. Rumor had it Thinstreak was at some medium-security facility on an Autobot planet, High Command not knowing about his illicit traitorous activities. Gadget was saving those all for herself, all for later use. She’d even gotten to say goodbye to Haven before she left. She hoped he’d be alright. And in spite of herself, she’d miss Whirlygig.

 

What felt like decades later, the shuttle landed in Tebba’s loading bay, Gadget stepped off, and it sped off out the hangar, leaving her to look over her shoulder at it. Anxiety made her tremble and she stood there, not really knowing what to do. She was supposed to check back in with her commanding officer when she got here. So she started walking, looking around the halls in a daze as it sunk in that she was really free. She fought hysterical laughter and brushed a reverent claw over the wall, flapping slightly to relieve the swelling pressure in her chassis.

 

Finally, she got to the commander’s door, and knocked three times. It slid open to reveal Capacitor staring down at her.

 

“Oh,” the plane said, “it’s you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR!
> 
> \- Whirlygig and Campe find out that the DJD are inbound for one of their visits and prepare accordingly.
> 
> \- Flux and Megatron's relationship has entirely dissolved. Megatron attempts to talk to Flux about it, but she's largely indifferent to his efforts.
> 
> \- West McLambert arrives on the scene. He's a nine-year-old boy from Iowa who is present to witness Flux laying in the remnants of an old barn, having crashed overnight. He and Flux bond to the point where Flux is considered his mom and then have to part ways. However, they meet again in Arizona when he's nearly 18 years old and spend a night in the same place to evade a thunderstorm together.
> 
> \- Haven muses about how Gadget's nearly out of prison, and they have a goodbye discussion. Gadget is then freed from prison and bussed back to Tebba Base. The chapter ends with her seeing Capacitor.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> GADGET IS FINALLY OUT OF PRISON!!! YAY!!!
> 
> and you all get to meet West!!!
> 
> what did you all think so far?


	27. The End... and the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flux cuts ties with Megatron, their differing Decepticon ideologies finally breaking apart. Gadget is struggling to readjust to life as a free mech, but ReDouble is there to support her. Flux and her Generals receive a strange message that everyone else does as well, and discuss finally being able to return to Cybertron. Chermiin drifts into stasis after too long without food...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible trigger warnings:**
> 
> **none that i can think of, but if you need something tagged please let me know!**

Flux stood in front of her screen, arms crossed. The overhead lights shone brightly as gentle typing noises sounded to her left and right. “Megatron, Conure’s set on leaving -- and at this point, I don’t know if I can morally stop her.”

 

Megatron sighed, slumped in his chair as he rubbed fingers over his eyes. He looked old and tired, and extremely exasperated. This was the first time they’d spoken in a year or two. She and her commander rarely spoke to each other these days, and Flux simply had “standing orders” of a sort. “Fine.”

 

Flux looked over her commander, feeling nothing more than a crushing sense of anticlimax and disappointment. How had he fallen so low -- how had they fallen so low? Flux barely recognized her own comrades, her own friends. Her vents puffed hot air. “I suppose you wouldn’t care if we  _ all _ left, then.”

 

“Not particularly,” Megatron said, voice a little snarly. Flux snorted, and shrugged. He likely thought he was being cutting, but he’d said it, not her.

 

“Alright then. Lord Megatron, it used to be an honor serving with you. The Erstwhile Assemblance is no longer affiliated with  _ your _ Decepticon movement and will become its own entity devoted to what Decepticonism  _ used _ to be. What it should have  _ continued _ to be.”

 

Megatron’s red eyes glanced up at the camera, seemingly in shock and too-slow indignance. “What-”

 

“Goodbye,” Flux said coldly, and hung up on him. She also promptly blocked his frequency, and Carapace stared from cer position at the adjacent monitor.

 

“So… we’re finished?” Ce asked, voice a little wembley. Their wing cases on their back fluttered twice before stilling, and Flux let out a huge sigh and sat back in her chair.

 

“We’re finished,” she said, “I’ll alert the crew.” She leaned forwards and pressed the intercomm button. “All units, may I have your undivided attention? Just listen to this announcement, please. First of all, I would like to say that it has been my very high honor serving as your Major General. But I would like to announce that I am no  _ longer _ your Major General -- not in any official capacity. Instead, I am your Captain now -- and what used to be my Generals will be my in-commands. This is because we are no longer affiliated with the Decepticon army. Megatron has expressed no desire to keep us on as soldiers and so I severed ties with him, for those of you worried about deserting. We are Decepticons in the old way -- and that badge belongs to  _ us, _ not Megatron and his cronies. If anyone has any questions -- which I’m sure you will -- please don’t hesitate to come see me on the bridge. However, we are still working, so I would ask that only a few at a time come. 

 

If anyone takes issue with this,” Flux continued, “you are free to leave at our next docking point and return to Megatron -- or not. However, I feel that this was the best decision for the safety of the crew and as such, we will no longer be functioning as the Air Transportation Branch of the Decepticon Army. Instead, we’ll…” Flux trailed off, knowing that this was going to disrupt her credibility. She always had the appearance of knowing what she was doing, and it was why her units admired her so. She sighed.

 

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” she admitted, feeling it was best to just come out and say it. “But we’ll get through it together. As Decepticons.”

  
  


\---------------------------------------

  
  


Virtue drifted by Megatron’s door, as the warlord was heavy in discussion with Soundwave. Their voices were low, very low. Virtue almost had to strain to hear them, so he leaned back against the wall and took out a datapad to appear busy while he listened.

 

“... best if we keep this to ourselves,” Megatron murmured urgently. “If word gets out it would be disastrous. If I try to pull her back in, it would just draw attention to the matter. After we spoke she apparently blocked both my official and personal comms. This  _ cannot _ get out.”

 

“Then what shall I excuse Flux’s absence as, my liege?”

 

“Say it’s an extended mission,” Megatron said, voice low. “Tell them nothing beyond that. This matter does not leave this room. And --” Megatron cleared his throat, torn. His voice dropped even lower. “...don’t let Tarn find out about this.”

 

Soundwave’s voice was hushed as well. “Are you worried she might not be so discreet about her absence?”

 

“Not particularly,” Megatron said, “She’s smart enough to keep it a secret. And she’s not… a traitor at spark.” He snorted. “She’s just  _ traditional. _ Sentimental.”

 

Virtue resisted the urge to lift a brow at this juicy tidbit. So, Flux had finally defected? It had been in the works for a while -- Megatron had kept  _ far _ too little contact with someone who was such a powerful force in his army, and Flux had resorted to doing things her own way. They coexisted like two ships passing in the night -- a flash of acknowledgement was all they needed to keep their precarious system operating. 

 

Really the only thing that surprised Virtue was that they had apparently talked about it before it happened. It was really a fifty-fifty toss-up as to whether they would have had an argument beforehand or she would have just left. He didn’t see the Decepticon army lasting much longer at this point -- it would have taken a Primal miracle for them to even get back onto their feet. And with Flux -- who often operated as the interpersonal relations’ glue -- gone, that spelled even grimmer things. No doubt the army would be plagued with (even more) infighting and sabatogery. Perhaps it was time he and Starscream made their own discreet exit.

  
  


\--------------------------------------

  
  


Gadget and ReDouble were in the lab, eating during their break. Technically they weren’t supposed to bring food in, but they were the most senior lab techs and ReDouble ran the lab. It was pretty much fine. They ate in near silence, with ReDouble asking a lot of the questions. He was slurping a bowl of energon noodles, trying to be quiet about it.

 

“So are you alright?” he asked softly, blue eyes wide. He mumbled a little around the noodles. “You’ve been… different since you got back.”

 

“YEAH.” Gadget poked at her food, staring into it. The energon rippled and lapped at the sides of the cube like a miniature sea. She felt lost in it. “HARD TO ADJUST.” Coming back had been so much harder than she had thought. There was no joyous return, no hero’s welcome (not that she had been expecting one. She knew better.) no slipping back into the easy rhythm of life. She still found herself operating on prison time, getting up before anyone else got up and eating the shittiest gruel on the canteen menu for breakfast. She skipped lunch and ate the same thing for dinner, retiring to bed almost immediately after dinner unless her shift required it. She often forgot she could do things without being directed and had been left awkwardly milling around in the canteen by the door as she waited to be escorted back to wherever she wanted to go, before remembering that she didn’t have to do that any more. “Hard to adjust” barely covered it. She felt lost.

 

“Let me know if you need anything, alright?” ReDouble said, reaching for her. She jerked away from his touch and he let his hand fall, a little hurt. “Hey, it’s just me.”

 

“I KNOW. TOUCH IS BAD.”

 

“Oh, okay,” ReDouble said, leaning back as the hurt expression faded away. “Anyways, just… let me know if you need anything, alright? You’re my friend. I worry about you. You’re just… different.”

 

“YEAH.” Gadget said, fidgeting. “I JUST… DON’T REMEMBER A LOT ABOUT IT, IF I’M BEING HONEST. SO I’M FINE.”

 

“Gore says that’s called post-traumatic amnesia,” ReDouble stipulated, around another cheekful of noodles. Sauce dribbled out of his mouth and he hurried to catch it with a finger that guided it back to his mouth. He kept speaking, licked finger resting on his lip as if slightly covering his mouth to excuse the fact that he was talking with his mouth full. “He says that means you’re not really all that okay. He recommended a psychiatrist.”

 

“DO WE EVEN HAVE ONE ON THIS BASE?” Gadget sulked, sipping from her cube. Gore was a medic that had come on in her absence, and since Aberhalde refused to be her GP for “moral reasons”, Gore had taken up that mantle. He was nice. Quiet -- and more than a little nervous -- but nice. And Gadget certainly didn’t mind quiet. But she missed Whirlygig. She missed Haven. She didn’t want to have to drag and dredge through every  _ humiliating, depersonalizing, degrading _ detail of her prison sentence to a new psychiatrist -- one she might not even like. Every time she recounted events she got more tired. The lights were suddenly a little too bright for her liking and she felt exposed.

 

“No, but I think we could get one,” ReDouble said, “Or you could do a teleconference call. You know.” He shrugged and swallowed, taking his hand away from his mouth. “I just worry about you. Besides, aren’t you not supposed to be taking all those medications without seeing a therapist?”

 

“JUST THE ANTIDEPRESSANTS. AND I CHECK IN WITH GORE INSTEAD. IT’S TECHNICALLY ALLOWED, BUT HAVEN WASN’T TOO PLEASED ABOUT IT.”

 

“Haven,” ReDouble said, shaking his head. “I didn’t even know he was still alive. Didn’t he die or something? Or is it just someone who has the same name?”

 

Gadget shrugged. If Haven had told her how he was actually very much not dead, she couldn’t remember it. “IT’S THE SAME GUY.”

 

“Oh. Huh. Maybe I heard wrong, then. But whatever. How are you holding up with all the -- you know.”

 

“FINE. I WISH I COULD DO MORE IN THE LAB.”

 

“I’m sorry,” ReDouble said sheepishly, hurriedly slurping another mouthful. “I know you do,” he managed, the words a little garbled, “But Cap says I’m not allowed to put you near anything hazardous for the indefinite future.”

 

“THIS WHOLE LAB IS HAZARDOUS IF YOU USE IT RIGHT. AND I’M PRETTY SURE SHE LEGALLY CAN’T DO THAT ANYWAYS.”

 

“No, I checked for you,” ReDouble said, shaking his head. “She can. She can do pretty much anything if she deems it ‘necessary for the safety of her subordinates’. I managed to convince her not to ship you off to Kimia. She was dead-set on that.”

 

Gadget hunkered in further. She didn’t know anyone on Kimia. The only people she knew were on this base, and even then that was only a handful. Going somewhere new all the way across the galaxy would be horrible. “THANKS.” 

 

“Of course. She’s my conjunx, but you’re my friend. I shouldn’t have to choose.” ReDouble shrugged and took another mouthful of noodles. “So I didn’t.”

 

“HEY… R… REE?”

 

“Mhm?”

 

“CAN WE WATCH THE MOVIE ABOUT FROGS?”

 

ReDouble beamed. “Yeah, we can watch the movie about frogs.” Gadget’s entire spark seemed to release pressure, and she could feel her fuel pressure drop instantly. ReDouble loudly slurped the last noodle from the bowl and set it aside on his desk. “After our shift?”

 

“AFTER OUR SHIFT.”

 

It was only a month or two later when they got the call -- the call that everyone got.

 

**:The war is over. Come home.:**

  
  


\-------------------------------------

  
  


Flux woke to a rush of frantic pounding on her door, and threw herself out of bed, running to the door to yank it open. “What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

 

“Major General, sir, I-!” one of her crewmates cried, one of the younger ones. His name was Zig.  As Zig chattered, Flux allowed herself to take a breath and got a little more in control before interrupting his rambling. 

 

“Is something immediately the matter?” she asked, “Do I need to be on the bridge for this?”   
  
“We don’t think so,” Zig’s friend said, hesitantly. “We just didn’t know what to d-”

 

“Hey!” Oracle shouted from down the hallway, jogging to catch up. Her braids jumped and swung as she jogged to a halt. “What did I say about banging on her door? It’s 3 in the bloody morning!”

 

“She needs to know!” Zig shouted back, and then turned to Flux. “Sir, we all got a -- a thing that said the war is over and it’s time to come home. We had to know if it was some kind of prank but everyone we’ve asked said they got the same message. Did you get it?”

 

“I-” Flux said, before realizing that she’d been blearily half-woken up an hour ago with a surge of the same exact feeling they were describing. “I -- yeah. Yeah, I did.”

 

Oracle came into view, spearing the subordinates with the stink eye before looking at Flux. “I couldn’t stop them. Sorry about that.”

 

“Did you get this message they’re talking about?” Flux asked, leaning on her doorframe. Generals Regus, Oracle, Carapace, Zoom and Zag had all stayed on, but Conure had left, claiming that while she would miss them all dearly, she wanted to do more and see more. She had propositioned Flux one last time for old times’ sake, as she wasn’t “technically under” Flux’s “purview” anymore. Flux had turned her down and they had hugged before Conure had run off into the city, waving goodbye to everyone. Flux missed the jet. But she had her hands full with everyone else, who had really gotten settled into being independent Decepticons. They had even gone around and stopped to help people where they could -- and when Flux said people, she meant all kinds of people. They had even stopped to defend a few organic planets from the Black Block Consortia’s ruthless mafia dues-collecting. While said organics were understandably a little wary of bots brandishing Decepticon badges, the  _ Erstwhile Assemblance’s _ defense from their harassers earned Flux and her crew some credibility.

 

Oracle sighed. “Yeah, I did. Regus and the others are in the situation room talking about it. We weren’t going to involve you until we thought it was serious enough, but it looks like everyone on the ship really did get that message at the exact same time.”

 

“But we can’t go home, can we?” Flux said, “I mean, Cybertron is -- is…”

 

“Trashed?” Zig suggested. He wasn’t really a member of the same family clan as Zag, but the two sparksibilings had adopted him in. He was a little younger. Zoom was their middle sparksibling and much closer to Zag in temperament -- that is, fit for leadership. Zig had many other strengths -- being in charge of things wasn’t one of them. Which was fine!

 

“You could put it like that,” Flux accepted.

 

“I don’t feel like it is anymore,” Oracle said, “I mean, what else could ‘the war is over. Come home’ even mean?”

 

Flux frowned, tapping a finger against the doorframe as she pondered. “You’re right,” she decided. “I’m coming with you to the situation room to talk.”

 

“Yes sir,” Oracle said, doing a casual salute. Her fist thumped on her left shoulder. “Right away.”

 

Flux waded through the crowd of eagerly chattering subordinates and entertained their conversation as the group walked. Oracle opened the door to the situation room and stepped aside to let Flux in. Zig tried to run in, beaming at his older sibling Zag, but Flux caught him by the collar fairing and gently pulled him back. “Ah, bup bup. Not quite, little man. This is a little above your pay grade, unfortunately.”

 

“We aren’t even  _ getting _ paid,” he whined, “We work for supplies wherever we stop. And besides, what about transparency among the masses?”

 

“Nice try,” Flux admonished, smiling. “But I promise you that we’ll tell you all everything you need to know when we work it out.”

 

Zig pouted, lower lip sticking out. “Fine.”

 

“Good.” Flux let him go and patted his shoulder. “Promise we’ll tell you all when we’ve decided something. Now-”

 

Zig tried to dash in. Flux’s in-commands shouted and Flux grabbed him again, hauling him back “Oh, no you don’t!”

 

Finally, thwarted for the second time, Zig gave up for real, shrugging with a sheepish grin. “Worth a shot?”

 

“Not really,” Flux said, wagging a finger, a little sterner now. “While I might not be your Major General any more, I’m still your captain, and as your captain I’ve already said you can’t come in. This is a meeting for higher-ups to decide how we’re going to proceed with matters.”

 

“Yes sir,” Zig said, actually seeming apologetic. Flux released her grip on him.

 

“You’re alright. No hard feelings. Now get going, hm? Go relax. Get some sleep.”

 

Zig nodded, and walked away with his friends. He seemed to feel a little better as they started chatting, and Flux walked into the situation room as Oracle closed the door behind her. Zoom and Zag were discreetly coughing and looking anywhere but the other generals.

 

“Sorry about Zig,” Zag mumbled, and Zoom nodded.

 

“We let him have some candied energon before we all went to bed,” Zoom muttered lowly. Zoom didn’t talk much, and he was quiet when he did. Zig was by far the chattiest of the trio. Zag and Zoom were fellow vanguard generals, but Zig was a low-ranking officer. “He’s 3 million years old and still gets hyper when he gets a taste of sweetner.”

 

Flux waved a hand before going to sit at the head of the table. Oracle took her seat a few chairs down on the left. “It’s fine. Unusual circumstances. Now, we’re all in agreement that everyone on this ship seems to have gotten that message?”

 

“Yes,” all Generals present answered.

 

“And we think it’s coming from Cybertron?”

 

All nodded, various murmurings affirming.

 

“Is there any way we can verify that?” Flux said, leaning forwards to rest her arms on the table. “I don’t want to be heading back into such volatile territory without a good reason. The Autobots have probably won, which means that a massive Decepticon ship -- even if we are Decepticon independents -- would register as a threat.”

 

Zoom cleared his throat. “We’re working on trying to sift through rumors, but it appears that Cybertron really is repaired.”

 

“I saw it myself after Simanzi,” Flux said incredulously, leaning back so her landing gear thumped against the seat. “How could it possibly be fixed so quickly?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Zoom confessed, “but we can only work for supplies in so many places. Our reserve supplies from our days in the army are starting to dwindle as we supplement them for regular supplies during dry periods and I’m not sure this is sustainable.”

 

Flux frowned, nodding. Zoom was right. They’d been mostly subsisting for supplies by working a few days in places that they docked, but there was no official stipend coming through the door anymore. No income hit hard, and Flux was well aware how being on the lowest end of the tax bracket felt. “Hm.”

 

“I, for one, think it would be advisable to head back to Cybertron,” Carapace said calmly. “If it truly is repaired as well as Zoom says it is, there could be abundances of new resources. Even if the Autobots consider us hostile, they have to  _ feed _ us.”

 

“I’m just worried about the lower officers,” Flux said, “A lot of them are MTOs. War is all they know. Zig is warborn and war is still all he knows. How are they going to handle it if the Autobots take us prisoner?”

 

Oracle cleared her throat. “Not for nothing, but from what I’ve been hearing, it doesn’t seem like the Autobots have the manpower to imprison  _ anyone _ right now.”

 

“Why am I only just hearing about any of this?” Flux asked, spreading her arms. “C’mon, you guys. You have to keep me updated!”

 

“You have been trying to keep this ship and its occupants together through a veritable income famine,” Carapace said gravely. The phrasing was odd, but got cer point across. “We felt that we shouldn’t trouble you with what we thought were meaningless gossip shreds.”   
  


Flux accepted that, nodding a little with a shrug. “Point taken.”

 

Regus spoke up. “Not for nothing? I think we’re all missing something.” 

 

Everyone turned to look at them. They seemed to slouch. “I just want to go  _ home,” _ they said, almost plaintively. “And… I’m pretty sure you all do too.”

 

Flux and her generals all looked at each other, and nodded after a few moments. Flux stood up. “Alright then, we’ll announce it now. We set a course for Cybertron. Do we have enough supplies to get us there?”

 

“Just about,” Oracle confirmed. Flux nodded, and pushed in her chair. 

 

“Then it’s decided. Meeting dismissed. Zag and Zoom, come with me to the bridge. Carapace, you too. Regus and Oracle, I want you checking over supplies to catalog exactly how long they’ll last. We’re going home.”

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


The creature lay in the soft grass, letting out low-pitched roars that carried across the open plain like spirits with a mission. It hadn’t had the energy to move for days. In an attempt to find food, it had since attempted to eat one of the bodies. It hadn’t gained any nutrition from the armor plating but it crunched satisfyingly. It had left the building through the doors it had bent open to enter, and gone wandering, hunger gnawing. Finally, the creature had collapsed at the bottom of the mountain and not gotten up. As it called out to no one in particular, it looked up at the sky, and at the great purple expanse of stars above it. They were blocked out by a moon, which had a greywhite tinge around it. 

 

The creature snorted. Something was different. Its vision flickered as a stasis lock warning flashed, followed by a countdown. The moon was moving, slowly drifting aside to reveal the sun in one of the planet’s incredibly infrequent moments of direct light. The plants around the beast quivered in nervous expectation. As the countdown fell further from start, the creature’s wide eyes took in the bright crescent of white light that speared around the side of the moon, illuminating them in a brilliant ray of crescent light. It slowly, slowly widened, and the creature’s vision faded to black by force as the moon moved away from the sun entirely.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! THE FINAL CHAPTER!! what do you all think of the story so far? everyone's pretty much in place to start part two, which is where we'll pick up before the lost light takes off and then follow some's journey on the lost light, and others' on cybertron!

**Author's Note:**

> by the way, totally forgot since i've been writing this for so long i forgot that there are new people who don't know this -- but Havoc, Cephalon, Roundabout, Grave Robber, Doubleshot, Sanctuary, Venturefar, and Flinch are actually starscrearn's characters. You should check out their TRULY stunning array of Rung fics on here, they're phenomenal.
> 
> Tourniquet belongs to moosekababs -- hes babey! you should also check out moose's fics, especially Deja Vous and the Jayus series. they're SO GOOD guys fr
> 
> anyways, thanks for reading!


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